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A 

Life in Song 



BY 



GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 



FOURTH EDITION, REVISED 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

Ube "Rnicfterbocfter press 






Copyright, i886 

BY 

GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 



Third Edition, Copyright by 

GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 

1908 



Fourth Edition, Copyright by 

GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND 

1916 



4 




DEC 14 1916 

Ubc *nfcljecbocftcr press, mew Ifforft 
©GI.A441)793 



The course of one born kwnble . . . 
W/io yet attained the end of highest aims 
As grand as any land or age e^er sought. 
Because his plans when struggling toward the light 
Emerged where freemen leave to God and heaven 
The right to rule the spirit though on earth. 

Finale : A Life in Song. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Prelude i 

First Note 8 

Dreaming lo 

Second Note 54 

Daring 56 

Third Note 93 

Doubting . 95 

Fourth Note 140 

Seeking 142 

Fifth Note . 191 

Loving 193 

Sixth Note 244 

Serving . . » » 246 

Seventh Note 284 

Watching 286 

Finale 3^9 

iii 



A LIFE IN SONG. 




RELUDE 



" Seven notes make full the gamut. 
Some have said 
Seven ages make our human life 
f complete ; 

And seven has my life known ; and now the dusk 
Folds like a pall above my earthly day. 
I would not hold too dear this day that goes ; 
Yet who, when he has pass'd through ways wherein 
His feet have wander'd and been wellnigh lost, 
Would leave no words of guidance for his kind ? 
And who, when leaving these where heedless ears 
Are disenchanted oft of all distaste 
By words men chant in verse whose music seems 
To pulse and pant like living blood and breath, 
Or leave the nervy lines like breezes blown 
From silence into song-land, as they cross 
^olian chords ; — who in a world like this 
I 



2 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Would not wish all the current of his thought 
To flow to speech amid these waves of rhythm ? 
More swiftly and more surely thus, perchance, 
The truth that wells from him may clear the space 
Between his own and other souls, and swell 
The stream of truth which flows from each for all." 

So spake, with eyes that fondly sought his works 
As mothers' eyes will seek their children's forms. 
The man whose care had wrought these tales in 

song. 
Then, turning, sage-like, toward a waiting friend, 
He slowly said : " Beneath men's outward lives 
There flows a force whose current, sweeping on, 
Impels to outward good. But if they start 
To gain this good, they oft are driven back ; 
And oft then start anew. Through all their lives 
They thus may struggle forward, then draw back. 
And move now here, now there, and half believe, 
Like half the world, that all their deeds are vain ; 
Yet must it be that far above this earth, 
Where grander progress courses grander paths 
Than mortals ever dream of, aims that urge 
Men's hope so vainly to and fro below. 
Are seen to swing the pendulums that turn 
The hands on heaven's high dials to better times. 
A life like this, it is, whose changing paths 
The feet that tread the measure of my verse 



PREL UDE. 3 

Essay to follow. Would the poet's themes 
Themselves were worthier ! Then they less might 

need 
The lyre of fancy to give charm to fact : 
Enough of sweetness might attend reports 
Of footfalls really heard, and deeds perceived, 
Impelled by sweet desire." 

With words like these, 
The dying poet turn'd him on his couch, 
Sank back, and fell to rest. 

And when, at morn, 
Friends came to bear to him his early meal, 
They found him still and pale, and by him there 
His poems lay, half held in opening hands. 
Alone with these embodied thoughts of his, 
Prized so because the forms to which so oft 
The spirit breathed by him had given its life, 
That spirit now had all been breathed away. 

Of those who mourned him then, none knew his 

past. 
They scarcely knew his name. Some days before, 
With locks and beard as white as was the snow 
Blown round him when he came, his trembling 

frame 
Had drifted hither, like a bark to shore ; 
And here, disabled by the strain and stress 



4 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Of many a former tempest, he had stay'd ; 
And here, erelong, had found the final port 
Of all his earthly voyage. 

Nor then had those 
Whose friendly doors had open'd for his needs 
Been void of their reward. For such a man. 
With so much to draw forth from men their best, 
Yet so much to impart beyond their best, 
These unversed villagers had never seen. 
They could but love him ; yet with all their love. 
The more they knew him, something made of him 
Still more a stranger. All about his life 
There hung an atmosphere of mystery. 
He seem'd through it to see what they saw not; 
And as their hush would heed the rare reports 
That reach'd them through the music of his voice. 
His thought oft seem'd a spirit's ; none could tell 
From whence it came : nor trace it where it went. 



So, when he died, the room in which he died. 
And writings left there, seem'd like sacred things 
To those whose kindly care had tended him. 
Nor would they touch them. "Who can tell," they 

said, 
" If friends of his may come in search of him ? 
And when they come, if they be like himself, 



PREL UDE. 5 

They may not like it, if our alien hands 
Have made aught seem less his." 

And soon it chanced 
A friend had come. One morning, with the sun, 
A soldier bright with glittering stars and bars 
And buttons on his uniform of blue, 
Whose martial mien commanded every eye. 
And hush'd the children's play, came down the 

street, 
And paused before the house, and enter'd it. 
And when he gazed upon the vacant couch 
And untouch'd writings of the poet, then 
The gem-like tears, pursed in his wrinkling cheeks. 
Fell like some rich exchange of value due 
Proved wealth of worth within the soul now gone. 
" He was my army comrade," said the man. 
" Had we but known this," one replied, "his form 
Would like a soldier's have been borne to rest." 
" He was a true reformer, years ago 
The spokesman of the slave," said then the first. 
" Had we known this," was answer'd now, *' his form 
Would like a statesman's have been borne to rest." 
" He was a poet," said the first, once more. 
" Ah," sigh'd the other, " there his poems lie. 
We knew the poet." 

" So you bore him forth. 
With no parade of honor," said his friend ; 



6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

"And that was well. He would have wish'd no 

more. 
The soldier and the statesman are the state's, 
And all the pageantry that can augment 
The dignity of office and of power 
Befits them, as the king his robe and crown. 
Not so the poet He is all mankind's, 
Akin to both the humble and the high, 
The weak and strong. Who most would honor him 
Must find in him a brother. He but strives 
To make the truth that he would speak supreme, — 
Truth strongest when the simplest, needing not 
The intervention of pretentious pomp, 
Plumed with vain symbols of authority 
To make men keep their distance." 

Musing thus, 
The man drew near the writings ; and, erelong. 
Who watch'd them saw them sorted, one by one — 
For all were number'd — into seven groups. 
And, at the sight, one bending over them 
Recall'd a time in which the man they mourn'd 
Had talked of mystic numbers ; and had said 
That, " Like the days that part the weeks in sevens, 
And tones that run the scales of sounds and hues. 
And spheres that seers have seen in heavens and 

hells. 
Like these did nature seem all things to group, — 
To count the deep formations in the rocks, 



PRELUDE. 7 

And forms in life, till seven made each complete. 
Ay, man on earth but seven times ten years lived. 
And all mankind through seven like phases yet 
Might reach humanity's grand Sabbath-time." 
And one, they said, who heard these words, had 

ask'd. 
And had discuss'd the question with his mates, 
" Could mind and matter then in any sense 
Reveal essential oneness ? " Ansv/ering which, 
" Why not ? " had ask'd the poet. " Many a sage,— 
Augustine, Plato, and Pythagoras, — 
Had talk'd of souls as numbers, ay, or spheres. 
Yet none," he soon had said, " could really solve 
All riddles hidden in the forms outlined 
By nature's curves and angles, or amid 
The play of her fair features, made more fair, 
Like human faces, by the thoughts beneath. 
Read all that so has thrill'd in every age 
The spirits of the wisest and the best." 





OTE FIRST. 



"The burden of the poet's 
dying thought, 

You all have heard," the 
stranger-soldier said. 
" 'T is fitting then you all should solve with me 
His meaning — in these poems "; and he read 
The title " Dreaming." " Truly here," said he, 
" This man would tell us of his own sweet life ; 
For he began life dreaming, he himself. 
I knew him when a boy, a poet then, 
With brain on fire to learn, aye glowing like 
A gilder's cauldron, so the crudest thought 
That reach'd it from a neighbor's lip or book 
Came from it glittering like a precious thing. 
An orphan, bound and work'd beyond enduring 
By those whose hard, cold natures could not yield 
That genial warmth of sympathetic care 
For which the spring-time of his nature craved. 
Anon, there seem'd for him but one delight : 
It came from realms of dreams, while, on his bed, 
8 



NOTE FIRST. Q 

Too tired for sounder slumber, he would toss ; 
And, like a galley-slave, forced out to sea. 
Yearn for some harbor somewhere in the world 
Where waiting love would welcome love that came. 
Oft in rare moments that he stole from work. 
Would he confide to me his wrongs and hopes. 
I seem to see him yet, the straight brown hair 
Toss'd wildly backward from the broad white brow, 
The sunburnt cheeks, the deep and wondering eyes, 
As blue when grand emotion swept within, 
As autumn skies are in the northwest wind, 
With just as much of heaven back of them — 
Dear boy ! — and he has told us here perchance 
Of what he dream'd." — So spoke the soldier-friend; 
And paused a time. Then, vaguely, with a look 
Turn'd inward toward the soul, as if to find 
Dear stores in memory, he began to read ; 
And one by one the people who had stood 
To greet the stranger, softly took their seats ; 
And not alone the poem held them there. 
The aged soldier's well kept, youthful voice, 
The ringing echo of a singing heart, 
Charm'd all, like chimings of the old church bells, 
Which, sweet in summer, yet still sweeter seem. 
When peal'd amid the winter's wind-whirl'd snow. 



^mREAMING. 




Life is poised on slender mo- 
ments ; all eternity on time ; 
And the ''still small voice" reveals 
the presence of a power sublime. 
Footfalls, light as dreams', may wake the slumbering 

soul's activity, 
Rouse the source whence thought and feeling issue 

toward their destiny, — 
Toward the good, if lured by movements where a 

pathway leads to weal ; 
Toward the ill, if turning only where the wiles of 

craft appeal. 
Whether come a sound, a fragrance, or a light that 

stirs the mind ; 
Something wakes a wish within one ; something 

gleams we glance to find ; 
And we start ; and then press toward it, on beyond 
the joys of youth ; 



DREAMING. II 

On, till old age falls in death, to spring apart the 
gates of truth. 

II. 

Every thing in art or nature, robed in rich or rude 

attire. 
Gains in beauty while it gains in power to lure a 

pure desire. 
Surface claims may charm the senses, but the spirit 

from its throne 
Waives away all other suitors for what charms itself 

alone. 
Thus we find that, while they long to see the scenes 

of which they sing, 
Blind or banish'd poets conjure forms more fair than 

sight could bring. 
Thus we find, where evening shadows lie reclined 

at close of day. 
All the world grows more attractive, veil'd in twi- 
light's guise of gray ; 
For, in dim relief, its outlines woo our wonder and 

surmise. 
While the stars like sparks that linger where the fire 

of sunset dies 
Kindle oft our aspirations, which, as grandly they 

evolve. 
Light the brow of meek conjecture with the flush of 

bold resolve. 



N 



12 A LIFE IN SONG. 



III. 



Is it Strange, that such an evening, when my days 

were filled with strife, 
Such an evening, far and hazy, seems the sweetest 

of my life ? 
Is it strange that memory, gazing back through 

many a year's expanse. 
Now recalls the scenes I saw then, clad in grave 

significance ? 

IV. 

On that eve, for once, my soul, set free from toil, 
had just been brought, 

Through a fairy realm of fiction, near the life for 
which I sought. 

Then I turn'd and watch'd the sunset, with emo- 
tions vague and wild, 

Till I seem'd a thing scarce human, strange as 
mystery's very child. 

Not of earth nor heaven appear'd I. I was one 
with that mild light. 

Which had veil'd in awe the hills before the hush'd 
approach of night ; 

And through all the clouds that floated rose the 
forms of angels fair. 

And L seem'd to heed their whispers in the move- 
ments of the air. 



DREAMING. 1 3 

Far adown the west I track'd them, till there met 
my wondering gaze 

Mountains in the sky that fring'd a sky-set sea 
begirt with haze, — 

Haze from shore-sand bright as gold-dust blown to 
clouds by winds of noon ; 

But across the sea's blue depth appear'd to sail the 
crescent moon. 

Scarce I saw this, when beyond it I descried with 
pleasure great 

Outlines of a heavenly port illumed as for a heav- 
enly fete. 



Ah, how wondrous was that city, reared amid the 

cloud-land bright, 
Where that sunset capt the climax of the day's 

completed light. 
How the wall that coil'd around it glow'd along its 

winding way ! 
And how flash'd the floods of flame that in the 

moat before it lay ! 
What though underneath their splendor stretch'd a 

storm-cloud black and long ? 
'T was a bass-note held beneath that sweeter o'er it 

made the song. 
For, above, as if aspiring toward the heaven's en- 
kindled fires, 



14 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Toward the sky in countless numbers, press'd the 

domes and pierc'd the spires ; 
Domes, high arch'd, with tints to rival rainbows in 

their every hue, 
Join'd with spires from darkness pushing, till their 

peaks effulgent grew ; 
Spires like prayers that start from anguish, aim'd 

for where all blessings are, 
Spires like hope that falters never while above it 

shines a star. 
Then — and how my gaze prof an 'd them ! — what 

retreats for bliss appear'd 
In those fair illumined mansions that along the 

streets were rear'd ! — 
Streets like shafts of light far shooting, fading like 

the sun from view, 
Back of trees with leaves like autumn's, when life's 

fires have burned them through. 
In my soul I half believed I then should leave this 

earthly star, 
Gazing like the seer on Pisgah, toward that prom- 
ised land afar. 

VI. 

After this, my thoughts, returning back to earth, 

grew mutinous ; 
And rebellious meditation to their tocsin murmur'd 

thus : 



DREAMING. 1 5 

"Five years — it is long to languish with no teacher 
but desire 

In these hours of stolen study, snatch'd from toil in 
sweat and mire. 

Wherefore was I left an orphan, and the ward, with- 
out a joy, 

Of a man who into manhood thinks to keep me still 
a boy. 

Keep me back from needed knowledge, like a weak- 
ling soon to die. 

Who, if train'd in-doors, might fail to make my 
friendship with the sky ! 

Why should he so crush and curse me, dashing 
water on my fire — 

Quenching with a hiss each spark that gleams to 
show my soul's desire ? 

VII. 

" Ah ! how oft, released from labor, when day's 

heat and dust were stay'd, 
By the calm, cool fires of starlight, I have dream'd 

and hoped, and pray'd ; 
And of things divine had visions, all so complex 

and so vast, 
That my mind could comprehend but parts of them, 

the while they pass'd ; 
Parts that yet so charm'd and thrill'd me, that, with 

all its might and main, 



l6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Thought would soar on high to match them, but 

would soar and soar in vain, 
Till, to my bewilder'd yearning, in the distance all 

would fade, 
Where their long-drawn trains of splendor slowly 

left the world in shade. 
Why should mortals be becalm'd amid the earthly 

darkness here, 
While the lights from countless havens throng the 

heavens far and near ! 
Surely sails, wide spread to woo them, heaven's fair 

winds cannot forsake : 
That which moves to right moves onward, tho' but 

slowly grows its wake. 
Surely, souls, if but persistent in the search of 

truth long sought. 
Spy new worlds arise where clouds had coursed but 

watery wastes of thought," 

VIII. 

Thus with varying moods I sat there, till each radi- 
ant sunset cloud. 

Like some living form, seem'd buried in a gently 
gather'd shroud. 

Yet my thought still rested on it : naught, oh, 
naught of good so dies : 

It but disappears, anon, to don a resurrection 
guise. 



DREAMING. ly 

Blessings grieve us, when they leave us ; but they 

leave no sunless gloom. 
Everywhere new life may spring up, everywhere 

new beauty bloom. 
So for me, as died that sunset, all at once there 

came a change ; — 
For I slept, and dreamt the sky there flew apart 

with flashing strange, 
O'er which clouds abruptly gather'd, as if thus to 

screen from me 
Thrice ten thousand flames that lit a path more 

deep than space could be. 
Wonder then my brain bewilder'd : reasoning all to 

rapture flew. 
*' Surely," thought I, "joy celestial crowns the light 

with halo new. 
It may be an angel-greeting to some saint ! " then 

futile quite, 
This attempt of reason left me, for behold ! a 

stranger sight : 
Swift from flash to flash augmenting, as a torrent 

seeks the sea. 
All those flames that rose and fell appear'd to start 

and flow toward me. 
Then my soul within me fluttered. Here was what 

I long had sought. 
" Farewell now to earthly fetters ! Yes, they burst, 

they burst ! " I thought. 



1 8 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Ere they did so, all my spirit grew more calm ; for, 
far away, 

Rose a song with words revealing what the light 
could not convey. 

Sweet it was as if the heavens would all their sweet 
store shower below ; 

And by one flood quench forever all the thirst of 
mortal woe ; 

And my moods were swept before it in a spell re- 
sistless bound, 

As a sailor, sinking softly, where the deep sea laps 
him round. 

But can I recall the song now ? — Better bid yon 
meadow nook 

Hold the whole great rain that blest it on its jour- 
ney down the brook. 

IX. 

Ay, when men who would direct you onward toward 

the realms of truth, 
Where exhaustless wells of wisdom quench desires 

of endless youth. 
In their efforts falter, blunder, and with phrases 

vague and blind, 
Void of close and clear expression, leave their 

meaning hard to find. 
Blame them not : their case is human : themes and 

aims as grand as these 



DREAMING. 1 9 

Overflow the burden'd words that bear our lesser 

thoughts with ease. 
Many guiding views beyond us loom but dimly un- 
derstood : 
Many schemes are hatch'd that famish where our 

imperfections brood. 
O how oft when stirr'd to rescue those we love 

from threaten'd woe, 
Or to point them toward the pathways, where in 

safety men may go, 
Our own lack of tact or temper has equipt advice 

amiss, 
Veil'd like truth with features hid behind a warp of 

prejudice. 
Ay, how often, when the light that guided us has 

gleam'd within. 
We have wish'd that our reflections might enlighten 

then our kin, 
But though brighter minds might aid them, ours, at 

least, were dull as night, 
Striving ever, failing ever, half our views to mirror 

right. 
Foremost of our best possessions, faith fails not 

that can but feel ; 
Yet how blest are they who know and can their 

grounds of faith reveal. 
They alone, amid the shades, where men who move 

toward mystery 



20 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Long to know what joy or woe is yet to be their 
destiny, 

They alone, with heaven-lit torches, flashing light 
the darkness through, 

Can disclose beyond the gloom the looming out- 
lines of the true. 

X. 

Power like their's, and more were needed, to recall 

what thrill'd me there 
In that music flowing round me, as if fountain'd in 

the air. 
All the tones appear'd spontaneous ; yet, beyond 

all discord sweet, 
By divine and inner impulse made to blend in 

chords complete. 
Somehow thus the phrases ran, and roll'd, and 

echoed through the night ; 
And the changes that they rang were all to praise 

the Source of Light : — 

XI. 

Hail, hail, hail. 

Eternal Glory hail ! 
Ye powers of light, high o'er the night 

Where only gloom had lain, 
Began your sway, ere dawn'd a day, 

And evermore shall reign. 



DREAMING. 21 



Before one star had flash'd afar 

Light fill'd creation's throne, 

And, ere the birth of air or earth, 
In growing splendor shone. 
Gleam, gleam, gleam, 
And ever brighter beam, 

And far away through endless day 
Forever onward stream. 



Hail, hail, hail. 

Infinite Goodness, hail ! 
From heavenly height through day, through night. 

And down to deepest hell, 
From central throne to circling zone, 

Where'er a world can dwell. 
The hosts of right their shafts of light 

Hurl onward through the sky ; 
And rear their bow o'er rain below, 

And routed clouds that fly. 

Shine, shine, shine. 

The universe is thine ; 
In blackest hell, burst full and fell, 
Like lightning, flame divine ! 

Hail, hail, hail, 

Almighty Truth prevail ! 
At thy command, in every land, 

O'er haunts of lust and lies 
The stars, a band of guardsmen, stand ; 

And dawn with ardor hies. 
The lightning bounds and thunder sounds, 

And fire and air enroll, 



22 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And all that live allegiance give 

To their supreme control. 

Wail, vv^ail, wail ; 

Ye powers of darkness, quail ; 
And flee until the wrong be still, 

And right may drop its mail. 



Hail, hail, hail, 

Unchanging Promise, hail ! 
O'er all that jars the world, the stars 

Burn on the long night through. 
Aurora lights her giddy hights. 

The comet cleaves the blue. 
The sun and breeze from beds of ease 

The scatter'd fogs pursue. 
From land and sky the shadows fly. 

Awaking, winks the dew ; 

Speed, speed, speed. 

With light sow every mead ; 
And haste the time when every clime 

Shall glow as grows the seed. 



XII. 



Ere the echoes that rehears'd it learn'd the tones of 

half the lay 
Those who hymn'd it hove in view from out a 

cloud of golden spray. 
Such a sight has oft allured me, rous'd by morn's 

first herald-gleam, 



DREAMING. 23 

Floating up the edge of slumber in a just awaking 

dream. 
Angel forms, no man could number, circled in a 

band of light 
Round a chariot framed of splendor, drawn by- 
steeds of dazzling white. 
Softly sped they o'er the vapors ; and, with wings 

of texture rare. 
Woke low throbs of murmuring music, as they 

lightly struck the air. 
And the chariot bore a Being with a smile so 

sweetly bright, 
One could better paint, than it, the fragrance of 

that summer night. 

XIII. 

" How could mortal dare to face her ? " thought I ; 

"nay, it should not be." 
And like veils my eyelids fell to screen my soul she 

should not see. 
Then at once my dream had shifted. Down below 

me met my sight, 
As of old, the farm and cattle. Turn'd away from 

all that light, 
Once again my form seem'd staggering through a 

task too hard and mean. 
While my very soul was trembling lest my lack of 

strength were seen. 



24 A LIFE IN SONG, 

" Cruel fate ! " cried I, despairing ; "none on earth 

so curst as I ! " — 
Then my eyes, above me glancing, saw that fair 

one still draw nigh. 
On she came, until she reached me, bade those 

angel-bands depart, 
And, with accents fill'd with love that thrill'd my 

very spirit's heart, 
" Come," she said, " and sit beside me " ; and I 

rose, I wist not how, 
And within her car I found me ; nor had known of 

bliss till now. 
Up from earth and through the sky, and over land 

and lake it springs, 
Lightly drawn and gently guided by the white 

steeds' beating wings. 
Then along the long horizon sudden forms would 

flash in view, 
And like suns our skies illumine, as we by them 

swiftly flew. 

XIV. 

Soon my spirit yearn'd to ask her what these won- 
drous things could be. 

But, while still I dared not do it, she, who knew 
what stirr'd in me, 

Said, as if she heard me question : " Mortal homes 
are fix'd in stars. 



DREAMING. 2$ 

We have left the bounds of matter ; here are burst 

the prison bars, 
Out from which, with powers contracted and a 

weary sense of strife. 
Souls, like convicts through their grating, steal ? 

luring glimpse of life. 
Here are regions where the spirit, freed from fet- 
tering time and space, 
Wings her flight through scenes eternal, reading 

thought as face reads face. 
Here the good reveal their goodness, and the wise 

their wisdom show ; 
And from open minds about them souls learn all 

that souls can know." 

XV. 

"All they learn," I thought; "learn all things?"— 

and my dream had changed again ; 
And my master stood before me, and I dared to tell 

him then, 
Till his dark face loom'd like smoke round eyes in 

which fierce anger burn'd ; — 
Tell him that the heavens had shown me 't was my 

right for which I yearn'd. 
At my words he sprang to strike me — struck — and 

lo ! it seem'd the world 
Stagger'd like some drunken giant, while I to the 

ground was hurl'd. 



26 A LIFE IN SONG. 

"All is ended now," I thought— when, like a 

mother's voice in youth. 
Rose my guide's : " God's children," said she, " have 

a right to know God's truth. 
In the world brains mould to bodies, but across its 

border-line 
Royal minds must share their purple, slaves with 

kings become divine. 

XVI. 

"O if but a spirit's vision once could reach a 

mortal's eyes. 
In it he might more discover than he else could e'en 

surmise. 
Hold, my steeds — while men are slumbering, we 

may note their dreams to-night. 
Note, my child, while passing through them, scenes 

that greet angelic sight. 
These augment by all the fancies forged in all these 

burning spheres. 
From the Pole-star past the Lion, far as where the 

Cross appears ; 
Conjure them like minds that muse them, varied as 

their interests ; 
Add completed recollection, and all thought that 

each suggests ; 
Then conceive a soul's emotions, while such visions 

loom in sight — 



DREAMING. 2/ 

You have only dream'd a dream of one short night 
of heaven's delight." 



XVII. 

While she spoke, from out the distance, rose in 

view what seem'd a grove ; 
But beneath its boughs a dreamland, like a laby- 
rinth, unwove. 
There were paths like those of Eden. There were 

mountains high and grand. 
Hung to wild, fantastic fortunes o'er a dizzy dearth 

of land. 
There were lakes all diamond-dappled ; there were 

streams that rushed at meres 
Arch'd by bridges, rainbow-girdled, where the high 

spray leapt their piers. 
There were flowers that flush'd through vistas, 

where alternate floods of sheen. 
Rich as tides of amber, flow'd through shaded 

banks of evergreen. 
There were trees whose broad, high branches cradled 

all the stars o'erhead. 
There were lawns whose tender grasses could not 

stand a fairy's tread. 
Orchards, gardens, halls, and temples fill'd the 

fields : and in them seem'd 



28 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Every creature, of which fancy, past or present, e'er 

had dream'd, — 
Birds and beasts of all conditions, dancing, dozing, 

forward, shy, 
Strown, as if on isles that throng'd an endless 

ocean in the sky. 

XVIII. 

"Can it be that heaven," I ask'd, "is fill'd with 

thoughts of things like these ? " 
" In the heaven's blue vault about us, where earth 

floats in cloud and breeze. 
All are held," she said, " that earth holds ; nor 

would past their borders pour 
Were the opening voids about them fill'd with in- 
finitely more." 
*' Can it be that heaven," I cried, "can care for 

beasts that work the field ? — 
Then for him who works beside them ! " — and with 

this my dream reveal'd 
At my feet the well-turn'd furrows where I trudg'd 

behind my plow — 
Only now it flew before me, speeded on I knew not 

how, 
Only now it drew me upward, — then was not a 

plow at all, 
But the chariot where my guide sat. " Heaven," 

she said, "deems nothing small." 



DREAMING. 29 

XIX. 

Then, anon, she bade me note rare nixes' forms, 

whose golden hair 
Flow'd about their sunny faces, fair as clouds in 

sunset air. 
Then those clowns that mask and romp she pointed 

out, — Shedeem and Jinn ; 
Then, at flower-beds, peris giddy with their fra- 
grance long drunk in. 
Near them flitted timid wights, and, where high 

cliffs half hid the light, 
Dodg'd the goldsmith-duergar, dragging all their 

gleaming stores from sight. 
In a stream were necks and kelpies, pressing down 

a plump stromkarl ; 
Near them, gulf'd in water-lilies, dracs who made a 

mermaid snarl ; 
Farther off, the leprechaun with bantering brogue 

he hammered well. 
Where his quick blows fell more soft than rain- 
drops on the fairy-bell 
Then we met with monster-deeves, a korred with 

her shaggy head. 
Trolls and trows in gay green jackets, topt by 

fiery caps of red. 
And a crowd of sly hobgoblins lugging off some 

cellar's ware ; 



30 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And an old-time nis and lutin. All of Bedlam now 

seem'd there : 
Brownies proud of plaids and thistles, kobolds 

flushed with too much beer, 
Boggart -snobs astride a lion, roaring so the deaf 

could hear, 
And frail elves, like smoke in whirlwinds, dancing, 

while the hogfolk sung ; 
Or, detected, swiftly skulking toward the leaves 

they hid among. 

XX. 

Then I saw a stranger marvel : — smaller than each 

mate so small, 
Floated near the weest wonder one could ever see 

at all. 
First it seem'd a passing snow-flake ; then repaid 

my steadfast gaze 
With the outlines of a skiff there, fill'd with cheery, 

film-like fays ; 
And up through the shifting atoms of the air that 

parted us 
Oozed in tiny tones a ditty, ; and the lines were 
worded thus : 



XXI. 

To-night, to-night, my fairies white, 
The fair sweet air we sail. 



DREAMING. 3 1 

But first a tune to tease the moon 

That tempts us toward the vale : — 
Who cares to go where roses glow 

In sheen the moonlight sheds, 
And globes of dew are sparkling through 

The tent the spider spreads ? 
Your moonstruck fay may dance away 
And crush the rose-leaves all to hay — 

Who cares ? — I don't ! — Do you ? 

But note you there that maiden fair — 

Ha, ha, a dainty bit ! 
She dreams a dream of love I deem. — 

Queen Mab 's a wicked wit ! 
Come, come, a jump; and down we '11 thump; 

And dance about her heart. 
'T will beat and beat — aha, how sweet 

The thrills we there shall start ! 
We '11 tickle her neck, and tickle her toes, 
And tickle her little lips under her nose — 

Who cares ? — I don't ! — Do you ? 

And then we '11 huff that mourner gruff, 

Till he unknits his brow. 
We '11 whiz and whiz about his phiz, 

And pinch his lips, I vow ; 
Then hide and seek in hair so sleek, 

And down each wrinkle spare ; 
And ply his eye, if dry, too dry ; 

And slide the lashes there ; 
And when big drops begin to flow. 
Oh, how we '11 dodge the flood, oh ho !— «■ 

Who cares ? — I don't ! — Do you ? 



32 A LIFE IN SONG. 

The moon may keep the earth asleep — 

We '11 twist things ere we go. 
The beau shall toss a baby cross, 

The belle shall beat her beau ; 
The men be boys ; and boys the toys 

Of girls that at them scream ; 
And when they wake, oh, how they '11 shake 

To find it all a dream ! 
They '11 think of wind and fly and flea ; 
But not of you, and not of me. — 

Who cares ? — I don't ! — Do you ? 



XXII. 



Charmed at this, I bent me nearer ; but dismay ! 

off dodged the toy, 
Shaken like a note of laughter from the bounding 

breath of joy. 
" Cruel thing," I cried, provoked then ; ** weazen'd 

witchery of delight, 
Far too fine for eyes to find you, why should you 

have crossed their sight ! " 

XXIII. 

Then I thought this whole odd vision might be an 

imagined one ; 
Some had deem'd that half life's fabrics were from. 

mere thin fancy spun. 



DREAMING. 33 

" Is it so," at last I question'd ; " are not things 

the things they seem ? 
Do souls oft but serve delusions, heeding steps of 

which they dream ? " 
" Those who think so," said she softly, " overlook, 

when thinking so. 
Truths within man's nature deeper than proof's 

plummets ever go. 
Souls reflect all life like mirrors, and their dreams 

by day, by night. 
Though distorting oft, oft image facts too fine for 

finite sight. 
Borne through life, all move in orbits, whose far 

cycles curve about 
Circling spirit-light within them, circled by the 

world's without. 
What they call their consciousness is but the focus 

where are brought 
Rays, borne in from all about them, burning to a 

blaze in thought. 
Few can see, beyond their thought, the source 

whence all that lights them flows ; 
Few, except the best whose heaven seems bright 

though earth be dark with foes ; 
Or the worst who learn that, when uprightness 

bends to evil's might. 
Conscience brings the consciousness that souls have 

lost their spirit-light. 



34 



A LIFE IN SONG. 



XXIV. 



" Thus the good are fiU'd with trust, and thus the 

evil oft with fear ; 
For they dream of powers about them, swaying all 

in every sphere ; 
Powers of good and powers of evil. Ay, men feel, 

that, bow'd in prayer. 
Not with flesh and blood they wrestle, but with 

those that rule the air ; 
Nor will vanish thence till vanquish'd by that Spirit, 

whose control 
Rolls the star, and waves the sea, and works the 

most self-govern'd soul ; 
And can send, for rare communion, cloth'd in rai- 
ment all too white 
For the ken of common vision, those who force the 

wrong to flight." 

XXV. 

We had left that place of fancy, and had reach'd a 

star-lit sea ; 
And across its dark, deep waters, clouds, like smoke 

where burned the lee, 
Clung about a crystal temple, rising from the surf 

below 
Like a dawn of endless promise o'er a night of 

ended woe. 



DREAMING. 35 

Everywhere behind the cloud-mist, could we see 

the temple rise, 
Everywhere, each side and o'er us, till we lost 

it in the skies. 
Then, anon, at pearly steps, before an entrance 

dim and vast, 
In some way, but how I knew not, we had left our 

car at last ; 
And through goldrmail'd hosts were moving, who 

would part, aad pass us on. 
Swept, like gods, amid a glory blazed from all we 

gazed upon. 
Toward a towering portico, a cliff of shafts that 

upward went. 
Till the very stars appear'd to trail beneath their 

pediment. 

XXVI. 

At their base, a sire with thin locks gray from many 

a distant year. 
Gazing calmly out upon us, question'd as we ven- 

tur'd near : 
" Who is this you bring, my sister, who is this ? ah 

yes, I trace 
Restless eyes and flushing cheeks here ; yes, ah 

yes, an earthly face. " 
" One whose aspiration," said she, " as I rode full 

high at eve, 



36 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Craved for light, and aided hither, would not now 

this portal leave." 
"Aspiration," quoth he mildly; "many a bitter, 

bitter woe 
Is begot by aspiration. There are easier paths 

below. 
He 's the happy man who holds his head not higher 

than his home. 
'T is right hard to stoop forever. But I keep you 

from the dome." 

XXVII. 

For this dome then two to fit me, robed me quickly 

like a knight : 
And they whisper'd, when they left me, — " Faith 

alone can find the light." 
Then at once wide doors before us open'd like a 

dawning day, 
And disclos'd a hall resplendent, sweeping through 

long leagues away. 
All about it clouds of incense floated, fringed with 

golden haze, 
And within them lamps, half-hidden, shone like 

sparks amid a blaze ; 
While huge caryatic figures, carved on columns tall 

and white, 
F'\ed far off like phantom sentries guarding thus a 

phantom rite. 



DREAMING, 37 

Through the clouds that parted often, loomed 

mysterious choirs anon, 
And a slow, low hymn they chanted, surged afar 

and urged us on. 

XXVIII. 

Come to the love that is coming now, 

Come from the world away ; 
Come to the source of joy, and bow, 

Bow to the sweetest sway. 
Find but love for the heart that grieves, 
Love for the work one never leaves. 
Love for the worth that work achieves, 

Love ; and woe will away. 

Come to the truth that is coming now. 

Come from the world away ; 
Come to the source of right, and bow, 

Bow to the wisest sway. 
Find in the way where all is light. 
Truth to impel the soul aright, 
Truth to make all that awaits it bright, 

Truth ; and doubt will away. 

Come to love, and wherever you wend, 

All true life is begun. 
Ever in bliss toward which you tend, 

Joy and the right are one. 
Love — and the heart shall warmer glow ; 
Love — and the mind shall brighter grow ; 
Love with truth — and the soul shall go 

On to the lasting sun. 



38 ' A LIFE IN SONG. 

Come to the truth, and come as you may. 

All of love is begun. 
Whether you feel or think your way, 

Love and the truth are one. 
Love is the warmth, and truth the ray ; 
Truth is the light, and love the day ; 
Come to either, you wend your way 

Under the lasting sun. 



XXIX. 

As the anthem ceas'd — ah, music of such import 

knows no death : 
Evermore its tones refresh us, like a draft of angel 

breath, — 
As it ceas'd, I sigh'd aloud, " O would that I their 

light could share ! " 
When, behold, high, high uplifted, I was borne 

along the air, 
On and on, with slippery speed, far sliding still to 

swifter flight. 
Where strode by us tall, white columns, like gigan- 
tic ghosts of night ; 
Where high arches fell and rose up like an ocean 

in the sky. 
And bright lamps like lines of lightning on the 

clouded wall flew by. 
Then more steadfast came a splendor, and, amid 

the burning air, 



DREAMING. 39 

Checks that gently stay'd our progress, in a domed 
rotunda there. 

XXX. 

Broad this was and high, heaved heedless of that 
lavish'd wealth of space, 

As all else had been, — a marvel even in that 
marvellous place. 

Such a sight creation's dawning might have seen, 
when first arose 

Morning mists to end the night of an eternity's re- 
pose. 

All the pavement gleam'd as bright as could that 
first chaotic sea. 

When it floated all the germs of all the beauty yet 
to be. 

And the shafts that held the dome, and might have 
held in half the skies, 

Rose with lines of earthly grace, but wondrous in 
their hues and size. 

Far above, their hazy flutings burst in blazing 
capitals. 

Where amid encircling glory hovered hosts of 
terminals. 

Did they live or not, I knew not, but to my con- 
fused suspense 

Their high distance made them holy ; and I bow'd 
in reverence. 



40 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXXI. 

Underneath the dome's great centre loom'd a 

mighty throne, it seem'd ; 
But with outlines indistinct, for back of glowing 

clouds they gleam'd. 
And the clouds were smoke that hover'd over fires 

that brightly shone 
On a vast white altar, built before and round about 

the throne. 
From the pavement rose the altar, as from waves 

a coral reef ; 
But through lifting smoke its front show'd figures 

carved in deep relief. 
One by one the smoke would leave these, and 

appear'd revealing so, 
Through successive scenes, a tale of which my soul 

had need to know. 
On the scenes my gaze I fix'd then. — In the first, 

there met my eye 
Figures of a youth, and angel pointing out the 

headlands high 
Of a land of peerless grandeur past an ocean wide 

and lone. 
In the next, near harbors lured the youth to shores 

where wrecks were strovvn. 
Next, he sail'd o'er rough seas bravely ; next, did 

drift becalm'd awhile ; 



DREAMING, 4 1 

Next, flew on where fairest breezes blew toward 

many a flowery isle. 
Next, great clouds were sweeping toward him, and 

his frame was bent with fear ; 
But the last scene show'd a port with heaven-high 

mounts that he drew near. 

XXXII. 

Whose could be that life there outlined ? — so I 

question'd, till the fire. 
Blazing on the altar, led me to appease a fresh de- 
sire. 
On all sides, I saw about me, stretching outward 

far and wide. 
Long, deep halls that radiated from the dome on 

every side. 
All the halls were lined with statues, white robed, 

such as art redeems 
From the fate of fellow-fancies, when, too soon, 

they die in dreams. 
All the halls had pictured walls, of brightest hues 

which, far away, 
Stream'd like oriflammes of dawn before a march 

of coming day, 

XXXIII. 

Soon I heard that " In the halls and on the walls I 
gazed at then, 



42 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Art in finest forms had outlined all the ways and 

works of men. 
Each event in life was traced there, till all sank 

beneath the tomb ; 
Then, beyond it and above it, rested past the reach 

of gloom. 
All the halls were open to me. If I wish'd I might 

select 
One I chose, and might explore it ; and, v/hen 

in it could detect 
What befell the man whose course was limner'd 

there, when earth was left. 
And the spirit journey'd onward, of its worldly 

powers bereft." — 
Hearing this, I gazed about me, and resolved that 

hall to test. 
Where was pictured most of promise for pursuits 

that seem'd the best. 

XXXIV. 

Thus resolved, I found one soon, in which were 
frescoed on the walls. 

Wharves and ships that fill'd a harbor, busy streets, 
and market-halls, 

Fruit-red trees, and yellow corn-fields, open mines 
that gemm'd a land. 

And a gay-dress'd throng that drove through wind- 
ing ways to mansions grand. 



DREAMING. 



43 



" Truth's position aids its mission," thought I ; 

" men will serve his voice 
Who commands what most they treasure. Let 

me make this hall my choice. 
Now to find what wealth will bring me ! " — and I 

turn'd without delay, 
Where, at first, the brilliance dazed me, as I 

met it down the way. 
But the hall soon fiU'd with smoke, and then the 

walls, in graver hues, 
Loom'd to picture but the ills of those who would 

their wealth misuse. 
Then, as yet I push'd on farther, by and by, all 

light was gone ; 
And a sound of floods drew near me ; no one could 

have ventur'd on. 
So I turn'd and sought the altar ; but, alas, I sought 

it long 
Ere I spied its light, then wonder'd why it was I 

went so wrong ; — 
What could mean the gloom and terror ? — asking 

which, anon, I thought 
How a night would come, at last, when light with 

wealth could not be bought. 

XXXV. 

Then I found another hall, and watch'd it with a 
beating heart ! 



44 A LIFE IN SONG, 

For, portray'd upon its walls, were artists famed 

in every art. 
And about them had been pictured works of chisel, 

brush, and pen, 
Fit to body forth the thoughts breathed into them 

by Godlike men. 
Here, too, far and near, were statues ; and o'er 

each a gem-set crown 
Flash'd with light, and thousands like it shone the 

hall's whole distance down. 
"This," thought I, '' is what was wanting ; why was 

I so dull before ? 
Here the way is all illumin'd," and I enter'd, awed 

no more. 
Lighted onward by the crowns, my spell-bound soul 

had lost its fears, 
While the thought of scenes I saw there bore me 

past my mortal years. 
My works, too, seem'd not forgotten ; past my 

death they linger'd still, 
Thron'd a living recollection, sceptr'd o'er a living 

will. 
Ah, do not deny the soul its hopes of immortality ; 
Where did ever noblest living seek a lesser destiny? — 
But, while thus enrapt in revery, scenes about me 

lost their light. 
Introducing dusk to darkness, dodging doubt to 

crawling night 



DREAMING. 45 

And again cold mists were round me, while the 

unseen water's roar 
Fiercely rose again to drive me toward the dome I 

sought once more. 
" Ah," sighed I " those jewell'd crowns are void of 

all that made them bright. 
As the moon would be, if sunlight could not reach 

that orb of night. 
All the radiance that has left them from the far 

bright altar came ; 
When 't is hid, no art can ever make them kindle 

into flame." 

XXXVI. 

Now, when I had reach 'd the altar, I remained a 

while in doubt, 
Sworn to try no other hall that I had not thought 

long about. 
But, in one, some bright-robed artists linger'd 

painting deftly still. 
And it seem'd less lonely here, where their fair 

forms the hall did fill. 
So I paus'd where one was picturing waters to re- 
flect like dreams 
White-draped clouds, on hill-sides, tending slender 

wants of suckling streams. 
Flowers were bending by the waters, grown in 

fields of varied green 



46 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Stretching off toward heaven-hued mountains, 

which some shroud-like mists would screen ; 
Then, where summer fields appear'd to melt to 

yield their golden grain, 
Boys came bounding from a school-house, out 

toward men who reap'd a plain. 
Toward the reapers roll'd a carriage. They were 

but in laboring guise 
Yet the lordliest came to greet them ; and respect 

was in his eyes. 
*' Kere where nature rules and gives its due to all 

humanity, 
Here must be the land," I thought, " of all the 

dearest prophecy. 
His way surely ends in brightness, who is ruled in 

every plan 
By a love like God's, not slighting one whom God 

has made a man." 
So I tried this hall ; but shortly I had all its work- 
ers pass'd ; 
And I found myself with shadows, which by slow 

degrees were cast 
Over all the walls, now picturing not pure love but 

low-aim'd zeal, 
Making men, who strove for right amid a storm of 

lead and steel. 
Lose their rights in flame and smoke ; and when, at 

last, this fill'd the wall, 



I 



DREAMING. 47 

Naught was left me, once again, but back through 

pall-like gloom to crawl. 
Ah, the depth of my despair now ! Could one hall 

be wholly bright ? — 
" Nay, not so," I thought, " if even love can lure 

the soul from light." 

XXXVII. 

Yet, at last, my heart, still anxious, bade me one 

more effort make. 
But, ere that, I sought the altar ; and, when cour- 
age dared, I spake, 
Faintly asking one who walked there, "Is not some 

hall wholly bright?" 
"Yes," he said, "and they who find it, nevermore 

can lose the light." 
Then I thought, if there be only, anywhere, a single 

choice, 
Fit to bless me, could the blessing come from one 

with sweeter voice ? 
And I whisper'd : " O, good spirit, tho' my endless 

home this be, 
Only breathe one word to aid me, I will ever serve 

but thee." 

XXXVIII. 

He replied then ; " Are you kneeling ? — well for 
those who kneel in youth. 



48 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Self-reliance tends to failure, even where it starts 

with truth. 
Yet hope not for gleams of wisdom lighting all 

life holds in store. 
Finite souls must journey onward, learning ever 

more and more. 
Only signals can be given ; look to these ; and, by 

and by, 
Through the pure white air beyond you grander 

views will greet the eye." 

XXXIX. 

As he spoke, one near the altar, at a hint of his 

desire, 
Brought a ring, wherein, like gems, were sparks 

that held the altar's fire. 
On my finger then he placed it, saying : " All things 

are your own. 
Choose the hall that seems the brightest ; choose, 

as all men must — alone." 
Near me then the hall of wealth was, which I 

enter'd ; and behold, 
Found it, to its utmost limit, shining bright as 

brightest gold. 
And the pictures far within it, that before had 

seem'd so sad, 
In the darkness had deceived me : they were now 

in beauty clad. 



DREAMING. 49 

And the floods that I had fear'd so, flow'd around 

the temple-side, 
Weird and grand ; and grand, across them, rose a 

land beyond their tide. 
And the other halls ? — their story was the same. — 

Ah me ! how strange ! — 
How the lights we carry with us make the scenes 

about us change ! 

XL. 

After this, when turning backward toward the cen- 
tral dome once more. 

Forms of glory gather'd round me, thousands there 
not seen before. 

Bright they were to indistinctness, and bright robes 
they brought for me. 

Where within the folds were jewels it might blind a 
man to see. 

And my whole soul felt the nearness of the love 
these friends confessed. 

Where no end of welcome check'd the full com- 
munion of the blest. 

And, anon, I found me joining in their joy that 
watch'dthe sight 

Seen in stars where souls in bondage sought for 
freedom, love, and light. 

Then, as one star rose, there rose this chant as rare 
in harmony 



50 A LIFE IN SONG. 

As if all the souls that sang, had melted into 
melody. 

XLI. 

See the world that whirls forever, 
Round and round and weary never, 
Leaving sinning, glory winning 

Through its ever brightening way. 
Oh, in worth the deeds of duty 
Rival all the claims of beauty. 
Onward world, with steadfast spinning, 

Learn to turn a perfect day. 

Work cannot go wrong for aye. 

Woes but roll to roll away. 

World of faith, the years are dying 
In which clouds about thee lying 
Robe a wondrous waste of sighing. 

Empty throes of vain unrest. 
Life, if right, whatever bearing. 
Still for true success preparing. 
Must outwit the wrong's ensnaring. 

Faith will find that faith is blest ; 

Wrestle through its prayer for rest ; 

Dwell with good a constant guest. 

World of hope, the stars are o'er thee. 
Dawn is waiting just before thee. 
Heaven's own light, thy life invoking, 

Every promise bright reveals. 
Fast shall rays that days are sending 
Heaven and earth in one be blending ; 



DREAMING. 5 1 

Showing what the storm's dark cloaking, 
Tho' with rainbow belt, conceals. 
Night, too, blesses him who feels 
'T is a star in which he kneels. 

World of love, the heavens above thee 
Hold the clouds, and can but love thee. 
Though in spring the storm sweep o'er thee, 

April's rain is autumn's gain. 
Rock'd by wind and nursed by shower 
Life will grow to leaf and flower ; 
Every harvesting before thee, 

Shows the vintage is but rain 

Turn'd to wine the grapes obtain 

From the floods that fill the plain. 

Onward world, desponding never, 
Round and round, yet onward ever, 
On where sense and sorrow sever, 

Onward move thy mission through. 
Wisest deeds thy safety highten. 
Wisest words thy thoughts enlighten. 
Wisest views thy visions brighten. 

Holy wings thy way pursue. 

Heavenly outlines loom in view. 

Bliss is dawning down the blue. 

XLII. 

Round and round me rose the chorus, like a flood 

to cleanse all space. 
Far on high its waves would lift me; down as far 

would fall apace. 



52 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Then, as all at once above me, bright and clea.', 

appear' d the sky, 
Wide awake, my eyes, in opening, found those dear 

delusions fly. 
Gone they were with sleep and dreaming, and the 

star-gemmed canopy 
Night had borne beyond the west ; and sworn to 

ceaseless constancy. 
Day had come, his fair suite with him, all their 

armor burnish'd bright, 
Searching, as they search forever, for the flying 

forms of night. 
" Dawn has routed all my dreaming ! " sigh'd I, as 

in dew and rill. 
All the van of sunbeams early shot reflections from 

the hill. 
"Yes I only dream'd." I sigh'd; and then I roused 

myself to find 
Where had fled the phantom feet that left such 

sunny tracks behind. 

XLIII. 

All had vanish'd ; but, long after, left like footprints 

where they pass'd, 
Lo, I found within my spirit this impression, there 

to last ; — 
That for him who hears anon by day or night the 

spirit's call, 



DREAMING. 53 

Naught is fitting save to be and do and speak the 

truth to all. 
Let the world refuse to heed it, — he at least is not 

to blame ; 
For the truth still rules his action, and the heavens 

direct his aim. 
Let the world with force oppose him, — he may lead 

a worthy life ; 
And his words may prove prophetic, tho* his works 

insure him strife. 
Let him make mistakes in methods, — who can learn 

these till he tries ? 
And the world that brings him failure, makes him 

fail to make him wise. 
He alone can hope to prosper, who has learned to 

use the light, 
Ray by ray, that shows the spirit, step by step, the 

way of right ; — 
Only he, who, when his dreaming lures him toward 

ideals rare. 
Wakes to gird and venture on, to be, to do, at least 

to dare. 





OTE SECOND. 



The reader paused and said : 

" The daylight fades, 
And many times must fade, 
before I close 
My work here for the poet whom we mourn. 
Enough for one day that our souls have felt 
The flood of fresh suggestions coursing down 
From this first poem as their fountain-head. — - 
But come to-morrow near the sunset-hour." 

So on the morrow near the sunset-hour 
The people gather'd ; and the soldier read 
The title " Daring." " Here again," he said, 
" The poet's fancy is a veil for facts, 
Through which, not dimly, those who knew him best 
May trace an early, rash attempt of his 
To match his dreams of doing good by deeds. 
What gave these deeds direction, was the aim. 
Which, just as he emerged from boyhood, stirr'd 
Kind men through all the region where he dwelt 
54 



NOTE SECOND. 55 

To face the persecution sure to come, 

And band together that their words and deeds 

Might free the friendless, kidnapp'd Afric slaves. 

To whom our nation, ruled by selfish greed. 

Denied all rights of body or of soul. 

In those dark times of fierce dispute, our youth — 

Scarce better than a slave himself — infused 

With admiration for these workers, vow'd 

To aid, or fit himself to aid their work. 

And, while to deeds his nature's currents rush'd, 

As rills to streams, all, soon, that strove to check 

But swell'd their tide. His pent-up powers burst 

forth, 
And swept all patience out of him : less wild 
Had been a war-steed, stirr'd by blasts that bid 
To onset. Do you ask with what result ? 
Hear then this poem. Too impetuous 
And stormy was the temper of the youth ; 
And blustering weather blew about their ears 
Who cross'd his pathway, like November winds 
That shake the mad red leaves, turn pale the 

flowers. 
But leave the vales as barren as a waste. 
His deeds wrought little. He intended well ; 
But good intentions, if they be not mail'd 
In prudence and well train'd in self-control, 
Are no more fitted to contend with wrong 
Than half-stripp'd serfs with steel-clad veterans." 




A R I N G. 



Above vague moon-lit forms of 
mount and vale 
There lies the haze-wrought 
mantle of the night. 
The winds are hush'd ; the clouds are still and 
pale; 
The stars like drowsy eyes just wink their light. 
Earth sleeps, except where on the seashore white 
The tumbled waves are waked by distant gales, 

Or where the calls of owls and nighthawks fright 
The startled slumberer of the silent dales 
With sounds they never make till night their plun- 
dering veils. 



11. 

But hark ! amid the stillness now a tread 
Disturbs the dews that tremble in the grass. 

What form impell'd by what pursuing dread, 
So speeds across this dark and drear morass ? — 
A youth it is, whose eager mien, alas, 
56 



DARING. 57 

Bespeaks an aim that seems beyond his years. 

Anon, where o'er a hill his path will pass, 
He gazes backward ; then, tho' naught appears, 
Anon renews his haste, and with it, too, his fears. 



III. 

He flies from home ; nor first nor last is he 

To leave his friends for midnight's chill embrace ; 
Nor first nor last is he, whom dawn shall see 

A wanderer cheer'd by no familiar face. 

Ah, homes forsaken thus, can aught displace, 
In after years, the sadness that ye wear 

For mourners who the childhood-love retrace 
Of those thus lost whose youth appear'd so fair. 
Ere storms had swept away hope's buds that blos- 
som'd there ? 



IV. 

The rose that with the fondest care we tend. 

May grace a bush whose briers but cause distress, 
And those on whom we most of love expend 

Give sorrow in return for our caress ; 

Yet need we not despair of their success ; 
For oft, where others would move on no more. 

Those who in youth these headstrong wills pos- 
sess. 



58 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Their way so push that every check, in store 
To stop the weak, becomes for them an opening 
door. 

V. 

But think not headstrong aims alone impell'd 
The course of him now borne along this plain. 

Against harsh treatment had his will rebell'd ; 
And so he thought that he but strove to gain 
His rights, long sought through other means in 
vain. 

And yet what were these rights, he hardly knew. 
He merely felt an impulse to attain 

A life where each could freely seek the true, 

And in the world do all the good a man should 
do. 



VI. 



Times were, when, arguing his projected schemes, 
He might have told you, souls had need of light; 

He might have told you of desires and dreams, 
All vague enough to make you deem them right. 
Who strove to hold in check his ardor's might. 

But heaven of late had sent what roused his thought 
And routed vagueness as the day the night. 

And oft would show, with endless blessings fraught, 

A brightest goal and paths through which it might 
be sought. 



DARING. 59 

VII. 

That dawn which brings the light of coming years 
Had blest his native land with liberty ; 

And through its Northern borders all were peers ; 
But, southward, one race held supremacy, 
And one, as yet, was held in slavery. 

A wrong was this that many more wrongs brought; 
For man is man, whate'er his ancestry ; 

And in a land where speech is free as thought 

Whoe'er do wrong, erelong, will find their ruin 
wrought. 

VIII. 

So in this land, a call to free the slave 

Had sprung to some few lips, and fill'd the air. 
And v/hen our youth had heard the call, it gave 

Direction to his hopes enlisted there. 

And now his life seem'd pressing on to share 
The fate of those — as yet despised and curst — 

Brave souls who in dark times had turn'd them 
where 
The light of coming good on earth should burst ; 
Nor knew 't would gild themselves with all its 
glory first. 

IX. 

The youth, scarce heeding where he was or went. 

Moved wildly on as thoughts that moved his will; 
As if, within the present strength he spent, 



6o A LIFE IN SONG. 

Unfolding wings his earth-wrapt soul did thrill. 

At last, he paused upon a higher hill ; 
And, looking downward through a moon-lit dell. 

Like one entranced, he stood a moment still ; 
And then his welling feelings broke their spell, 
And utter'd forth this fond and passionate farewell: 

X. 

" You hills, and vales, and streams, and woods, and 
lawns. 

You never, never, never seem'd so dear. 
What beauty shall be yours when morning dawns ! 

But I who love you so shall not be here. 

Yet still the hopes, if I be far or near. 
Which you alone were told, shall stay with me. 

Would man had lent to them a willing ear ! 
Ah, then, how fill'd with joy my life might be, 
For I had had no need of flying to be free." — 

XI. 

You ask me now, why I, who write here, seek 

My mirror for my face that gazes down ? — 
This face was his, who, spurr'd by fancy's freak, 

O'erleapt the limits of his native town. 

But his eyes then were fields for fancy's clown, 
Not homes like these wherein sad memories rest ; 

Nor smiles were his, all check'd by Fortune's 
frown : 



DARING. 6 1 

Nor did white locks about his brow attest 
How rays of ghost-land's light had touch'd its com- 
ing guest. 

XII. 

A few short years, how soon their sun and storm 
And shifting seasons change one's face and frame; 

And what one vaguely deems himself, transform 
To that which friend and foe alike disclaim: 
How calm the heart, which once those calls to 
fame 

Thriird through like beatings of a signal drum ! 
Those throbs, by turns, of hope and fear, how 
tame ! — 

Familiar ticks of life's old pendulum, 

Wound up to vibrate on till hope and fear are dumb. 

XIII. 

A few short leagues, and, calm and sluggish grown, 

The fickle brook has left the mountain steep ; 
And now, no more in boisterous torrents thrown. 

Through fertile fields, flows noiseless, broad, and 
deep. 

Alive with sails and lined with those who reap. 
So may our lives, altho' no more allied 

To narrow rock-bound brooks that wildly leap, 
Send forth an influence no less grand and wide, 
Because a gentler motion moves its growing tide. 



62 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XIV. 

The boy — to speak of him and term him " I," 
Would break the spells of strangeness, as I write, 

Which make these life-scenes that behind me lie 
So sacred that their shadows all seem slight, 
Or only render dark forms near them bright, — 

The boy pass'd on; and, just as dawn began 
Erasing all the stars with lines of light, 

Along the road before him he could scan 

A house, and barn, and fence, on which there lean'd 
a man. 

XV. 

Brought near the man, he finds his frame is bent, 

As if by long devotion to his lands ; 
His arms are brown with heat by sunlight sent 

To turn red-ripe the fruit served by his hands. 

His chest is broad, and gratefully expands 
To feel the generous air his health renew, — 

A master of his house and farm he stands, 
Who, fearing no man, dares to all be true. 
With open eyes and lips that let the soul speak 
through. 

XVI. 

He saw the youth ; and said, the while there flew 

From off his questioning lips a whistled lay : 
" You had an early start, to bring you through 



DARING, 63 

A marsh like that by this time in the day. 
And those who tramp for hours across it, say 
They find no dwelling, let them try their best. 
And you were coming east, — eh ? — toward the 
bay? 
So could not wait till sunrise reach'd the west ! — 
And now — ay, sit you here — or in the house, and 
rest. 

XVII. 

" * Good farm,' you say ? — why yes, we think it is. 

No richer land in all the State, than here ! — 
Grows grain so fast, one wellnigh hears it whiz ! — 

The crops are somewhat changed about, this year ; 

But on the hill-side lot, beyond that steer, 
Where now those buckwheat buds puff out like 
leaven, 

Last fall the corn — I swear I am sincere — 
Grew stalks full ten feet high, instead of seven. 
As if to beat the tree-tops in their race for heaven. 

XVIII. 

" *T is just our breakfast-hour ; but spare your 
dimes : 
To what we have — not much — we '11 welcome 
you." 
With this, both sought the house ; and there, betimes, 



64 A LIFE IN SONG. 

The boy had given his genial host a view, 

With words that wellnigh let more secrets through, 

Of all those aims that made his nature brave, — 
His wish for schooling, and intention, too, 

To help to loose the fetters from the slave. 

But thus his host would all the plans, he spoke of, 
waive : 

XIX. 

" Uncommon sense is nonsense, boy. Your schools 

Are good for some ; but are you sure their drill 
Trains men for work ? Fact is, these thinking tools. 

Are hard to handle — have too much self-will. 

They need more meat, than mind. Here, let me 
fill 
Your plate up? — No? — Be dainty, I may vow 

You came from snobs, and may present my 
bill. 
These ribs came off as fat and sleek a sow 
As ever warm'd a litter — There, try that one now. 

XX. 

" * All men should learn ? ' — not as you state it, 
boy; 
All men should learn enough to make them work. 

Too little schooling may a man annoy ; 

Too much may make him lazy as a Turk. — 
And * all men should be free ? ' — Ay, but no jerk 



I 



DARING. 6$ 

Can root out all the wrong in just a trice. 

Wherever grain can ripen, tares must lurk 
And grow till harvest come. *T was Christ's ad- 
vice : 
Impatience cannot force the fruits of Paradise. 

XXI. 

" * I have,' you think, ' no public spirit 1 ' — No ; 

But private spirit, boy, which does less harm. 
Last year, some city folk came here to show 

How wise 't would be — and well their words 
could charm — 

To rip a rattling railway through my farm ; 
Then cut it up in town-lots ; just as tho* 

Against a pet lamb one should lift his arm, 
And kill and quarter it, and take it so 
To market, for the few dead coin it brought, you 
know. 

XXII. 

" And so I told the strangers they must face 

Men who would fight their plan for many a year; 

Nor wish'd the farm and farmyard to give place 
To park and palace they would bring us here. 
Besides — old-fashion'd folk they knew were 
queer — 



66 A LIFE IN SONG. 

We scarcely cared to pay for tripled rents 

With even doubled gains ; and had some fear 
Our girls, whose gowns now half cocoon'd theii 

sense, 
Might burst to city-butterflies at our expense. 

XXIII. 

" Ay, far from pining after city-life, 

Where things moved not so slowly, as they said, 
Our folk had found enough of stir and strife 

In this more quiet life that here we led. 

We might but watch the seasons as they sped ; 
Yet some new task or sport gave each its leven ; 

And, whether suns or storms were overhead, 
Compared with city-air, all stench and Steven, 
Although outside their world, our own seem'd 
nearer heaven. 

XXIV. 

" To this they said, as you yourself would say, 
* I lack'd in public spirit.' May be so ; 

And yet our country folk all thought my way. 
'T was public, in that sense. In their sense ?-— no : 
My own wish did not publicly o'erflow 

My neighbors' wishes. Yet a spring may be 

A good spring that makes things around it grow; 

Tho' not a grand spring ; no ; until, bank-free. 

It makes a public swamp the whole way to the sea! 



DARING. 6y 

XXV. 

" What, must you go so soon ? Nay, nay, but rest. 
Brows always knit grow wrinkled in their prime. 
You ^ must go ' ? — then good-by, and stride your 
best. — 
But pardon one word more, my boy : — one time, 
When young, I, too, saw heights I thought sub- 
lime ; 
And tried to drive toward them some older folk ; 
But, boy, 't is only young blood cares to climb. 
Try it : you cannot drive, and may provoke 
Old heads, too long ago grown steady to life's 
yoke." 

XXVI. 

At this, the youth pass'd out along the road. 

His eyes bent downward, gazing on the ground ; 
Nor did he once look back, as on he strode ; 
Till, far away, a shaded place he found. 
And paused to rest upon a wayside mound. 
Then bursting tears rain 'd downward o'er his 
cheeks 
From clouds of grief in which his brain was 
bound. 
"Ah, who could think," he cried, "that one, who 

seeks 
No kindly aims, could smile so kindly when he 
speaks ?" 



68 A LIFE IN S0NG. 

XXVII. 

But where was youth, that in the scales had cast 
His hope and fear, and watch'd them balancing, 

Who found not hope outweigh his fear, at last ? 
And thus, erelong, from grief recovering, 
The boy grew sure that time would changes brings 

And other souls that would with his agree, 

This farmer even — 't would be no strange thing — 

Might wish perhaps the self-same good as he ; 

But did not understand him ; no, it could not be. 

XXVIII. 

More calmly then he walk'd ; and when, at noon, 

The trees drew in their shade, as birds their wings. 
He found beneath broad oaks a grateful boon, — 

Three fair-faced women dining near some springs. 

They bade him rest there from his wanderings, 
And share their meal ; then, baiting for his thought, 

Threw out so many flattering, gracious things, 
That every secret to his lips it brought. 
"Ah, here were souls," he felt, " who yearn 'd for all 
he sought." 

XXIX. 

" You left your home ? " — they cried, " How grand a 

flight ! " 
" And for a fancy too ? " — "Aha, you blush ! " — 
" Who might she be ? Had black eyes, eh ? — or 

light ?— 



DARING. 69 

Like this maid here?" — "Not strange a lad 

should flush ! — 
Where could he elsewhere find fair fruit so 
lush ? "— 
" And he shall rest with us, he shall ! " one said ; — 
When, touch'd as by a snake, he sprang to brush 
Her fingers from his neck, and free his head ; 
Then, pelted well with laughter, from the three he 
fled. 

XXX. 

Escaped from them, his feet approach'd a town 

From which a railway stretch'd invitingly ; 
And in its train he soon had sat him down. 

It moved, and filled his mind with ecstasy. 

The hum recall'd his favorite melody. 
The trees wheel'd by like dancers in their flight ; 

And, as they whirl'd with mad rapidity. 
Spell-bound, he slept and dream'd all wrought for 

right. 
And made the world they wrought in, beautiful 
and bright. 

XXXI. 

Anon, awaking, he could hear the sound 
Of vying voices from a seat behind. 

And saw two men there, as he turn'd him round. 
One seem'd all eyes of that swift glancing kind 
Which hint the culprit, whose too cautious mind 



70 A LIFE IN SONG. 

The secrets of his inner self would shield. 

Low views of others and himself combined, 
Had given this man distrust, not all conceaFd 

In manners taught to stay what should not be 
reveal'd. 

XXXII. 

Beside him sat another, all whose face 

Bore marks of patience, train'd by years of care. 
His glasses, lifted oft with easy grace, 

Great coat, large pockets, and abundant hair 

Marked him — " physician," one whose calm, wise 
air 
Can bid the raging fever sink to rest ; 

And turn to smiles his patients' weary stare, 
While children wonder at his bottle-chest. 
And how a still pulse tells him just what pill is 
best. 

XXXIII. 

By chance, the two men, as they sat, spoke now 
Of one well known and honor'd through the 
land, 
To whom the lad had learn'd, long since, to bow 
As his ideal of all things true and grand. 
" Can you conceive how one like him should 
band 



DARING. 71 

With those," the first said, " who would free the 
slave ? 
No public man can ever hold in hand 
His party's reins, till wise enough to waive 
His own ideals for ends which all his party crave." 

XXXIV. 



The other said — to skip words harsh for rhyme: — 
" 'T was all quite true ; a ventricle should not 

Congest an auricle : there was a time, 
Place, ad captandum vulgus: this was what, 
Hygien'd all influence: ne'er had he forgot 

His diagnosis, Medicinae D., 

Not D. D.: some of these would tell a sot. 

Half dead, the truth, and wholly kill him; he 

Would lie to save a life — if thus his doctor's fee." 

XXXV. 

He paused; for while he spoke, the boy's wide eyes 

Confronted his there, like an opening soul; 
Whereat the man increased their deep surprise 

By asking if his talk seem'd strange or droll. 

The lad first blush'd; then, gaining self-control, 
Confess'd the wonder that his face had shown. 

He said: " He might not rightly judge the whole 
That he had heard; but, if so, had to own 
That he had deem'd it sad, more this than strange 
alone." 



72 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXXVI. 

The two men smiled, and, drawn to trust in them, 

The boy was led with ardor to proclaim 
His reverence for the man they would condemn, 

In terms the two seem'd pleased to hear him 
frame, 

But, as he spoke full long, at last they came 
To view his tribute like some long-drawn jest, 

Not pointed till cut off. He mark'd their aim, 
And, flushing red, pour'd forth what well express'd 
How madly hot the zeal was which he thus con- 
fess'd. 

XXXVII. 

" Had not I seen," he cried, " enough to know 

Your slight regard for me, without this test ? — 
No need to laugh your mask off so, to show 
What could, without the showing, have been 

guess'd ! 
Yes, yes, I was a dupe, I own, to rest 
Content to trust in you who dared to spurn 

The views divine, with which such souls are 
bless'd. 
As, always looking up, forget to earn 
Earth's praise, because of joy in heaven's to which 
they turn." 



DARING. 73 

XXXVIII. 

His quivering lips could hold no further word ; 
Nor was there need : the two soon left the 
train. 
Some further jest of theirs was all he heard ; 
And then was left alone to nurse his pain. 
These men knew not how their light thrusts 
would drain 
The tears like life-blood from a soul so faint ; 

Nor thought how much of good is often slain 
By small, sharp shafts of wit, without restraint 
Shot forth in sport, and lodged where one hears no 
complaint. 

XXXIX. 

Our poor boy in his anguish thought of home — 
Friends, love, truth, slaves, and all things, — who 
can know 

Round what the most our surging fancies foam 
When depths of feeling rise, and overflow, 
And swamp the reason in their floods of woe ? 

Alas, one can but feel (while all sweep on. 

And, flitting through their mist-hung midnight, 
show 

Grim ghosts of buried good with features wan) 

Sensations too acute for thoughts to poise upon. 



74 ^ LIFE IN SONG. 

XL. 

" I wonder if it be that yonder star 

Shines now on those I love," so mused he here: — 
" Those dear old faces there ! — how dim they are ! 

And shall they nevermore my spirit cheer ? — 

Alas, how could I let, without a tear, 
Mere empty-handed hope outweigh each claim 

Of friends though few, who made my whole life 
dear ? 
And are they sad, those friends, that here I came ? 
Or do they miss me not ? or, if so, but to blame ? 

XLI. 

" On every side, I see some stranger smile. 
And hear anon his ringing laughter bound. 

I heed it, as within some chapel aisle 

One in his coffin seal'd might hear the sound 
Of his own burial hymn, when it had drown'd 

His last faint cry of * murder ! ' He were blest 
To have those friends his final woe surround. 

But who v/ould mourn for me .? my soul's unrest 

The very grave might shrink from, as a worrying 
guest. 

XLII. 

" I read a tale, once, of a spar that bore 

A ship-wreck'd sailor o'er a storm-swept sea. 
Away from beacon-fires upon the shore 



DARING. 75 

That rose and fell with waves that sought the lee. 

So here, some power, that will not let me be, 
But bears away from earth my reeling brain, 

Seems drifting, far from love and life, with me ; 
Yet ever fails to bring the final pain, 
To snap each straining nerve, and burst each 
swelling vein. 

XLIII. 

" But, far cold World, could not I show to those 
Who, pitying my desire, would venture near. 

That they to friends yield most, whose whole love 
flows 
But for the few ? — Yet, ah, could aught appear 
Attractive in my woe to draw them here ? " 

Thus mused our boy, too young as yet to know 
How youth alone to human love is dear. 

Before warm tides of life in veins that glow 

Have lost the heat and hue of heaven from which 
they flow. 

XLIV. 

The train had stopt ; and from the crowd there 

came 
A youth who, after many a bow and smile 
To friends who waved their hands, and call'd his 

name. 



^6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

With swaying gait had trod the car's long aisle, 
And sat in silence by our boy awhile. 
Then, when the train dash'd through a tunnel near, 
" A blasted bore ! " he cried. " A man could file 
His ear-bone off and less confusion hear. — 
But you — what ails you, man ? — There 's nothing 
here to fear. — 

XLV. 

" Ah, you are blue, you say ? — The skies are so — 
Not gloomy tho', till clouds their blueness hide ! — 

Then, why hide yours ? — Ay, doff the hide ! You 
know 
To flay a folly slays it. If you sigh'd 
Your sigh out once, it to the winds would glide. 

Naught like an airing would you oust a moan ! " 
And rattling on thus like a wag defied. 

This new friend's talk had such an old friend's tone 

That soon our boy, who heard it, felt no more alone. 

XLVI. 

Besides he had no secrets now to hide. 

So soon had shared them with his new-found 
friend ; 
On whom his woes all seem'd, anon, to glide ; 

Would God our older cares found such an end ! 

"With only that much in your purse to spend, 



DARING, yy 

You started out," he heard, " to free the slave ? — 
Your zeal, at least, was rich, and to commend ; 
And freedom to yourself, at least, it gave : — 
When free from him, who made a slave of you, the 
knave ! 

XLVII. 

" Now hear you this : I serve a guardian too — 
A good one tho' : — he always pays my bills. 

He runs a school — a school were well for you — 
And edits a gazette too, which he fills 
By talking at a scribe, whose whole frame thrills — 

Not always tho', electrified with joy — 

At such discharges emptied through his quills. 

This guardian, could he find one, would employ 

A scribe in place of me he talks at now, my boy. 

XLVIII. 

" So go you south with me to Baltimore, 

And all you wish is there, and close at hand ; 

Though, as for freeing slaves, you *11 think that o'er. 
In our right merry State of Maryland, 
No Yankees with their endless reprimand 

Make men run mad with isms fit to wear 

Strait-jackets ! we their notions will not stand ; 

Nor them, till sure they do not come to bear 

Our own pet slave-girls off for their free love up 
there." 



78 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XLIX. 

Our youth here frown'd; yet felt as one when streams 

Upon his waking eyes the morning light 
That swings the golden goal-gates of his dreams. 

Where slaves were, could he live ? and learn to 
write ? — 

It distanced hope he had not dared excite. 
And, as it thrills him, ah, how wrapt he bends 

To catch the stories told, too swift of flight, 
About this coming home, and coming friends. 
While round about each form his joy a halo sends ! 

L. 

He hears about the school : " the queerest set 

Earth e'er had jarr'd together ; down from Pool — 
The pest of tutors, but the students' pet. 

Who gain'd more discipline than all the school 
Through working hard to break through every 
rule- 
Way down to Sims, whose jingling pocket-toys 
Outweigh'd his brain, a fop and fawning fool, 
Too mean to join in other's jokes or joys. 
The gull of all the girls, the butt of all the boys." 

LI. 

He heard too of its matron — " sharp and slim — 

Whose eyes were flintlocks, and whose hair of hue 
To fit them when they flash'd ; and every limb 



DARING. 79 

Stiff as a gunstock. At each boy she flew, 
As if they all were cats that she would shoo 
From her choice milk. — Ah, 't would be soured to 
dwell 
With her hot temper! — Not a chum she knew, 
For all her hints of news that she might tell. 
Who found out all folks did, and not one doing 
well." 

LII. 

The master too was pictur'd — whom our boy. 
When soon he join'd the school, soon dared to 
show 

His very heart of hearts. E'en now his joy 
Went forth to meet a soul he yearn'd for so : — 
" A man who loved a 'yes,' but dared say * no' ; 

Strict, yet with smiles ; and gay yet earnest too. 
They said his life had weather'd many a blow ; 

Still was it staunch : when gales of laughter blew, 

To hold one's own with him was more than most 
could do." 

LIII. 

Some men there are, whose moods, on fire for truth. 
Burn like that bush that Moses, one time, saw. 

And never lose the fresh, fair charms of youth. 
Their souls from heaven itself their ardor draw, 
Nor burn according to an earthly law. 



8o A LIFE IN SONG. 

Their zeal, when kindled, kindles joy in those 
Whom worldly heat would but repel or awe ; 
Nor ever warps the soul that near them goes. 
But by its warmth allures to love that through it 
glows. 

LIV. 

A man like this it was, with judgment sound 

And kindly heart, to whom our boy was brought : 
And whom, the while he toil'd for truth, he found 

Prepared to aid the groundwork of his thought. 

Hard strove the youth, aye feeling, while he 
wrought. 
That but from deep foundations, grand in size. 

Life-structures rose like that for which he 
sought ; 
And, tho' he oft would think this ne'er could rise. 
Anon in visions fair he saw it fill the skies. 



i 



LV. 



And now he lived for weeks in that bright land 
Where youth appears in endless dawn to dwell ; 

Where skies of pearl o'er golden clouds expand ; 
And every breeze o'erflows with sweets that well 
From warbling birds, and burst each blossom's 
bell; 

Where every thorn that yet shall pave one's way 
Is hung with dews that coming joys foretell ; 






DARING, 8 1 

And all the glitter of the opening day- 
Still blinds the eye to all that else might cause dis- 
may. 

LVI. 

He lived, with restless eyes and merry voice 
And yielding ways, whose yielding gave them 
grace, 

One fond of friends, who yet sought oft by choice 
In soulless forms to find a spirit's face, 
In wordless tones a subtle thought to trace. 

For this the youth would search through dust and 
noise 
Queer buildings, or the bustling populace ; 

Or wend, where on the green some crowd enjoys 

A firemen's fight to quench the ardor of the boys. 

LVII. 

Or, tired of sounds and scenes that thus one meets. 
His feet would turn, and wander down the hill 

Along the shady sides of grand old streets : 

And reach the wharves, and watch the water still, 
Or ships about it sail'd with subtle skill, 

Long charm'd he knew not why ; and there would 
stay 
Till sunset's fire his glowing heart would thrill, 

Whose throbs within seem'd felt as far away 

As bells' whose echoes broke like breakers round 
the bay. 



82 A LIFE IN SONG, 

LVIII. 
Again, desires that spurr'd his eager mind 

Would dash it through the lines of some chance 
book, 
Much thought to seize, and much to leave behind. 
Alas, how many truths did he o'erlook ! 
How many rich-robed lies for guides he took ! 
How dazed grew hope, that follow'd in the track 
Of forms that vanished ! Conscience, how it 
shook. 
Charged by each innuendo's base attack. 
Smooth-tongued as knaves are when they stab be- 
hind one's back ! 

LIX. 

But books brought good with bad. At last, he 
learn'd 
How faith reacts on doubt ; if truth be sought. 
How most for those who most have ask'd and 
yearn'd 
Ring echoes from the boundary walls of thought. 
But deem not moods nor books were all that 
taught 
His growing nature. There were friends to read. 

With whom he banter'd, argued, pleaded, fought; 
But soon forgot the passion he had freed. 
Half doubting if the strife had been in dream or 
deed. 



DARING. '^i 

LX. 

But, more than all, the woes of slavery 
Impeird him on, as often wrong as right, 

To plan and work for all men's liberty ; 

And while he longed to champion this fight. 
His life appear'd a tourney, he a knight. 

A young Don Quixote, most on guard to dare, 
He harm'd more good, through zeal in need of 
light, 

Than any wrong his efforts could impair ; 

And fill'd with dust the way just where all needed 
air. 



LXI. 



For, then and there, what was it save a crime, 
To aim one blow at what, as all men knew, 
Upheld the social structures of the time ? — 
A crime against both wealth and custom too ? 
And where all Northerners waked suspicions, 
who 
But gazed upon the slave with pitying eyes ; 
As if men thought these eyes were heavens of 
blue 
To lure the slave to cloudless, clear, free skies. 
How could this youth escape, who had not yet grown 
wise ? 



84 A LIFE IN SONG. 

LXII. 

He could not. And, on one sweet eve, when all 
His earth-germ'd thought had bloom'd in dreams 
most bright, 

He woke to watch strange shadows cross the wall ; 
And, glancing up, beheld the welcome sight 
Of two who oft had praised him for the might 

With which his ardor had assail'd the wrong. 
But now, alas, he heard them both make light 

Of all they once had praised ; and lay there long. 

Until his love grew faint, which he had thought so 
strong. 

LXIII. 

For who that loves can think a human heart 
Can ever lightly lay its love aside ? — 

The spirit's life, whose gentle thrills impart 
Each separate ripple of the power supplied 
For every act, can aught its presence hide ? — 

Ah, sooner might the heaving sea attest 
Its life, without the movement of the tide ; 

And sooner might the sunlight sink to rest. 

Nor trail the sunset hues adown the glowing west. 

LXIV. 

The words he heard, erelong, were, " Did you know 

The boy was off again to see the slaves ? " — 
"Aha, found Venus a brunette, I trow ! " — 



DARING. 85 

" Nay, worse than that ! — A lip, like his, that 
braves 

Our cuffs by cursing slavery, also raves 
Of it to them. I '11 track him ; and do you ; 

And if we find it so, then nothing saves 
This bird, that fouls our nest for which he flew, 
But flying home again, with tar and feathers too.** 

LXV. 

" * My friend,' you thought him ? — Ah, some friends 
we use 
Like opiates, when our spirits are alone. 
And would be lonely, could not these amuse " — 
"And make us dream," chimed in the other's 

tone, 
"Of things that elsewise hardly would be 
known ! — 
A dream like Joseph's, of the stars to fall 
With all created things about the throne 
Of one, whose dream has proved the spirit's call. 
And who, some day, shall rule in Egypt o'er us 
all." 

LXVI. 

Our youth knew love was no love, that loved not 
What made his life worth living. So he cried : 

" Rare friends, behind one's back ! had you forgot 
Your Joseph lived his dreams before he died ? 



86 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And I may mine. A blockhead may take pride 
In never dreaming. Blocks are n't made for it, — 

Live not in clouds. Yet clouds not often glide 
O'er barren soil ; nor rich dreams often flit 
O'er minds too poor to yield the deed such dreams 
will fit." 

LXVII. 

Alas, the youth — how vain an egotist 

He seem'd indeed, to trump his own claim so ! 

And yet, when sworn to enter honor's list, 

Of which his fellows could or would not know, 
His frank soul merely thought the truth to show, 

But he had stopt at words ; and earth, that yells 
To cheer the gold-laced swaggerers, who but go 

Unwhipt before their trump to onset swells. 

Will stand no words in protest — better cap-and- 
bells ! 

LXVIII. 

The youth talk'd raving on, till, glancing up, 

His favorite teacher's coming he espied. 
Then soon the froth that foam'd o'er reason's cup, 

Dissolv'd in timid tears, flow'd down the side. 

" Alas, and could I help myself? " he cried ; 
" They came and roused me rudely from my 
dreams ; 

And proved pretended friends, who could deride 



DARING. 87 

And drive me hence for having — not low schemes, 
But aims all just and right, no matter how it 
seems." 

LXIX. 

" My boy," the teacher said, " our nearest friends. 

In judging us, our works, not wishes, take, — 
Works oft as far from what the soul intends 

As dreamland from the life to which we wake. 

Full oft our traits that temper it may make 
Impure the coloring of our purest aim. 

So need we caution, and for truth's own sake ; 
Lest those who watch love's fire within us flame 
Shall doubt if it from love or something baser 
came. 

LXX. 

"Remember Him, that once men sacrificed. 

But now rules over souls in every land. 
The world had long His gentle spirit prized, 

Ere it had come to heed His each command. 

Remember Moses : — with his mission grand. 
His meekness was the trait his race knew best ; 

Nor can our restless world ere understand 
How one can lead it toward a promised rest 
Whose own soul has not yet this promis'd boon 
possess'd. 



88 A LIFE IN SONG. 

LXXI. 

" A seer should know that truth, like morn, comes on 

By slow degrees, enlightening every sight ; 
And, tho' he wake the world it dawns upon, 

His faith should wait till souls can see the light. 

'T is he that waves his own torch in the night 
Who feels that he must force on men its glare ; 

And, though, ere dawn, it seem the one thing 
bright. 
If taken for the sun, it leads men where 
Their leader's oil burns out, and they themselves 
despair. 

LXXII. 

" So, friend," he went on, " you and I and all. 

If passion suddenly o'erflood our will, 
Should just as quickly our quick words recall. 

Thus love may seem our life's controller still. 

Bear this in mind, too : — ere above earth's ill 
Heaven's light of freedom dawns on all mankind. 

You scarce can lift the sun by human skill ; 
Nor toward one mount it gilds draw heart or mind 
By lips or lives through which no love can be 
divined." 

LXXIII. 

Some more he said ; then left our boy alone. 

'T was well : no voice could now recall the dart 






DARING. 89 

That, tho' without intention, had been thrown, 
To wound the youth within his inmost heart. 

Why should he mask his aims, he ask'd, in art ? 
" Nay, nay ; God knew that he would rather die 
Than live a life from all life's worth apart." 

He sought once more his bed, awake to lie. 

Or sadly swoon to sleep, as fearful dreams went by. 

LXXIV. 

And then he woke, half-crazed. There may be soul 
Can lose, and not lose all things else beside. 

What seem to be life's only worthy goals. 
But he knew not enough yet to confide 
In good unseen. He thought how he had tried 

To seek the right, and caused his friends but pain, 
And done what now he saw he could not hide, 

And what must force him from them. Ah ! 't was 
plain. 

He could no longer there beneath their roof re- 
main. 

LXXV. 

And so he rose and left it, tho* the night 

Already shook beneath the threatening tread 

That brought, anon, a storm. Oh, fearful sight, — 
That black car of the thunderer overhead ! 
Those fierce bolts flashing down their track of 
red, 



90 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And crashing on amid the shatter'd sleet ! 

And one broad elm, like Caesar, stabb'd and 

dead, 
Flung up its robes and tumbled at his feet. 
While hoarse winds howl'd about, and made his woe 

complete. 

LXXVI. 

But not once turn'd he back, until the bay, 

The while a deafening peal of thunder came, 
Flash'd forth before him, his quick feet to stay. 
But, ere it check'd them, lo, the lightning's flame 
Lit up, out o'er the deep, a human frame, 
Whose outstretch'd arm sank down beneath a 
wave. 
At this, forgetful of each other aim, 
The youth plung'd through the deep — drew forth a 

slave — 
Who curst him for the favor — had he sought a 
grave ? 

LXXVII. 

Nay, freedom ! Dragg'd on shore, a shot, well 
aim'd, 
Brought down the slave, whose piercing shrieks 
cut through 
The fitful surgings of the storm, and maim'd 
The sever'd thunder. Lamps then gleam'd in 
view. 



DARING. 91 

And swift police, who spied but to pursue 
Our youth, whose flight, they felt, proved guilt and 
fear. 
Then oh, how fast through lawn and lane he 
flew, 
Till all were still again, when, drench'd and drear, 
He hid beneath a shed to wait till dawn drew near ! 

LXXVIII. 

At last, it came. Above his crimson couch, 
The sun drew back the curtains of the east ; 

While pale-grown shades began in vales to crouch. 
Or, hurrying westward, leave the world releast 
From spells that long had silenced man and beast. 

Then winds, arising, shook the rustling trees. 
As if they said, " 'T is time your rest had ceast " ; 

And birds that sang soar'd high, as if to seize 

The last of flickering stars, blown out by morning's 
breeze. 

LXXIX. 

Soon o'er the hills ascends the sun's bright crown ; 

And, richly robed, as welcoming thus their king, 

The dew-deck'd groves and bushes bend low down 

Bright limbs o'erladen with rare gems they 

bring,— 
Rare gifts, borne all too soon, on sunny wing, 
Toward clouds that in the blue dome o'er them 
blaze. 



92 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Then sounds of labor join with bells that ring ; 
And one more dawn has heard the prayer and praise 
Of those who past it see the day of all the days. 

LXXX. 

They see a day, where heaven's bright grain of life 

Sprouts in the last black death-urn of the night, 
And buds of peace burst through the thorns of 
strife, 

And souls awake to praise enduring light. 

Ah, even now, they see, with earthly sight, 
That men may track the rain-storm by the rose. 

And make the wake of war the way of right, 
And learn, as each fresh breath of morning blows, 
How sweet and fair a life beneath the darkness 
grows. 

LXXXI. 

So might our youth have hail'd this morn ; but he. 
For whom the soft winds whisper'd in their round, 

For whom the brisk birds chirpt their calls of glee, 
For whom the bright sun up the heavens wound. 
And all the world of work avv^oke to sound, 

While men moved gladly and the children leapt, — 
He, dead to hope and happiness profound. 

His dreams begun, while all his heavens had wept, — 

Upon the chill, damp ground, through all the dawn 
had slept. 




OTE THIRD 



The people waited till another 

day, 
Then met their genial soldier- 
friend again. 
"We found our poet all alert for deeds," 
He said, ere reading, " and he fail'd in these. 
We now shall find him, like a storm-check'd bark, 
Put back to port and waiting. 



" Many weeks, 
As his own lips have told me, from the night. 
When he forsook that Southern teacher's home, 
He drifted like a waif from town to town, 
Now toiling in the fields ; now seeking work 
From door to door of shop or factory. 
Anon, as news-boy, then as printer's boy, 
Almost a slave by day, a thief by night, 
He taught himself to print, and gain'd a time 
Of leisure, when he read, and thought, and wrote. 
But still for years he lived in misery, 
93 



94 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Half starving both in body and in soul. 

And doubt rose round his growing powers of 

thought, 
Like vapors reeking from the refuse heap'd 
On undevelop'd germs in early June. 
Perchance his manhood's fruit was ripening then, 
For always would he say, and always, too. 
While saying, have that tremor in his voice 
Which seems to make the soul's pulse audible. 
That even in those times of woe to him, — 
E'en through his daring, since he meant it well, — 
The soul succeeded though his projects failed. 
He lost his outward end, indeed, but gain'd 
An inward end that, for his youthful years, 
Had far more value. But I weary you. 
Who hears his words may judge them for himself." 





OUBTING. 



Fate gave me feelings all my 

own, 
And dreams that others had not 
known, 

And forced me thus to dwell alone ; 
And sad, where no one else cared aught 
For what I was or wish'd, I wrought 
These rhymes to bear and share my thought. 



II. 

All day, as printer's drudge, I earn 

My bed and board, the while I turn 

To moulds of type the thoughts that burn 

In other minds ; but in my own 

What thoughts may burn can turn alone 

To ashes that away are thrown. 

At night, when like the printed sheet, 

I bear them up and down the street, 



95 



96 A LIFE IN SONG. 

None there my records care to greet. 

So, past where street-lamps light the walls, 

At last, through dark and mouldering halls 

My form a tumbling stairway crawls ; 

It crawls, until I reach on high 

My attic-home, in which I try, 

Till no more sounds go passing by, 

And others' lamps no longer burn, 

To gain the skill for which I yearn, 

With so much still to do and learn. 

I strive to force my sweating brain 

To grow me truth, but till in vain 

A soil that heaven sends only rain. 

What grows, I long to sow again ; 

But who can tell me how or when 

One gives his best to grateful men ? 

III. 

I like to think this frame of mine 
Contains a spark of life divine, 
Enkindled there with some design. 
I oft have thought, there ought to be 
Some light to glow and flow from me, 
And show what all men long to see. 
And oft I deem, the while I find 
Some men are slaves whom others bind, 
That my light now might bless my kind. 



DOUBTING. 97 

Would men but look where I can see 

How all could thrive, if all were free. 

But much I fear that few can lead 

The world to wiser wish or deed, 

Because the world so few will heed. 

The men who scan us, as a class, 

Turn always toward themselves, alas, 

Their magnifier's largest glass ; 

And small and far seem all they pass. 

There may be some ordaining grace 

That priest and prince of every race 

Have sought through mystic lines to trace ;— » 

A something back of sword and gown. 

Power apostolic, handed down : 

There are no wise men to the clown : 

The royal mind in tent or town 

To loyal genius owes its crown. 

IV. 

Why is it, all men hate and hound 
And hunt me down, if by a sound 
I hint the truth my soul has found ? 
I changed my city : 't was no use ; 
E'en here, this devil's cur, abuse. 
Is ever barking at my heel. 
Provoking sighs I should conceal. 
And making all my reason reel. 



98 A LIFE IN SONG. 

To-day, why could I not have stood 
The test of inward hardihood, 
Content to know my aims were good ? 
Why did I meet the man I hate ? 
Why did he stand there with his mate, 
Smirk at me, and commiserate, 
And anger me ? — Were anger wise. 
The face that would its force disguise 
Would not so blush to feel it rise. 



More sweet than heavenly harps are hearts, 
When love her low throb in them starts ; 
More sweet than sweetest songs, when sung. 
Are harmonies of deed and tongue 
Where two together think as one. 
Alas, and what have my moods done 
To part me so from all my brothers ? — 
Yet how can I accord with others, 
When all the strings I play, though nerves 
That every feeblest feeling serves 
To fill with thrills, oft bear a strain 
Of stretching fibres wrench'd with pain 
That wellnigh snaps them all in twain. 
Ere fitly strung to sound aright 
Some highest pitch of scorn or spite ? 
No wonder, gentle souls will say. 



DOUBTING, 99 

The while they softly shrink away, 
And learn to shun me, day by day, 
" Far better than a friend so wild, 
His rival, wrong, perchance, but mild." 

VI. 

Had I, who know that slavery 
Fits not God's heirs of liberty, — 
Had I but more self-confidence. 
The men who give me such offence 
Might yield my thought more reverence. 
When foes are sworn to cow their zeal, 
Those who would do good work should feel 
That none can rightly make right kneel. 
Some men have manners dignified 
By nature ; others learn to stride ; 
But others yet, with no less pride, 
Can never show what will not screen 
And keep their inner worth unseen. 
The brute that shakes at these his mane, 
Lets fly his hoof, nor minds their pain, 
If only whipp'd from his disdain 
And broken once, might mind the rein. 

VII. 

O could some Godlike soul look through 
My outward life, like God, and view 



lOO A LIFE IN SONG. 

And judge my soul, with judgment true, 

By what I am, not what I do ; 

By what I am, not where I stand, 

Which souls of low, short sight demand 

Before they dare give bow or hand ! 

Mean, cowardly souls, whose natures feel 

That they were born to cringe and kneel. 

And heed like dogs a master's heel, — 

They show a due respect alone 

For those who fill, if not a throne. 

At least a station o'er their own. 

So must one's worth that these despise 

Press on and up, until it rise 

And reach a place that all will prize. 

Awake, my soul, and strain each power 

That hints of effort. Let the hour 

Of sleep, that was, watch armor-clad ; 

Calm seem a pest ; contentment mad ; 

And slander'd patience onward press 

Till steadfast force achieve success. 

Come wounds ! come jeers ! where were they miss'd 

By one who sought the noblest list ? 

Zeal ne'er did sigh, but some drone hiss'd, 

" Be dunce with me, or egotist." 

Wise world, that yau our due begrudge us 

You yet, years hence, may understand. 

If we work out the good, so judge us ; 

If ill time then to use your brand ! 



DOUBTING. lOI 

VIII. 
How sad, when thoughts, proud once to roam, 
Abused and bruised, came mourning home 
With their young ardor overthrown. 
How sad is life that lives alone ! 
There was a time, when, brave and bare, 
The little hands, all soft and spare, 
Claspt all, and hoped that love was there ; 
Not gloved in fear, claspt every thing, 
With every rose to grasp a sting ; 
Then dropt it, sad and suffering. 
And what are now those thoughts about ? 
Oh, they have turn'd from deed to doubt : 
They work within, if not without. 
Oh, they have turn'd from all the pain 
That came from earth they served in vain, 
To that still world within the brain. 
Where fancy forms its mead and main. 
There many a fairest vision, sought 
In clearer light than sunlight brought. 
Is mirror'd in the wells of thought. 
But oh, how oft must one surmise. 
While o'er the soul's wild sea of sighs 
Imagination's glories rise. 
That, as at sunset, every form 
Derives its best from cloud and storm ! 
Oft fancy works but to appease 
A restlessness that shows disease, 



102 A LIFE IN SONG. 

A fever that the brain would ease. 
Oft crimson floods of thought impart 
Their brilliant hues to speech and art, 
When thus a pierced and bleeding heart 
Is drain'd in drawing forth a dart. 

IX. 

They call me morbid — if they mean 
I hate the wrong, wherever seen ; 
And make supreme my own ideal ; 
And grieve to find it not made real ; 
I hail the term. No titles go 
From earth to bias heaven, I trow. 
Men's normal moods may sink and swell 
At one with tides that drift to hell. 
E'en what the world calls holiness, 
Which ardent youth can ne'er possess. 
Is oft — so white and colorless — 
The ashes where heaven's fires are spent, 
Calm, cold, accurs'd, and yet content. 

X. 

This home of mine is in a place 
Where dwell alone the poor and base, 
And I partake of their disgrace. 
But, even here, some good I find 
Awaits a watchful patient mind. 



DOUBTING. 103 

For, where our wants are numerous, 
And fashion's robes are stripp'd from us, 
We learn of human nature thus. 
On earth, 't is but " the few " can find 
The gold that gilds the sordid mind 
And common dross of all mankind. 
And here " the many " live, and so. 
Unable to afford the show, 
In nature's naked truth must go. 
At first, I shrank from life so mean ; 
And oft would blush when I had seen 
How man could boast, yet be unclean ; 
But, oh, I feel, as weeks wear on. 
Vice, oft unveil'd, appears not wan, 
And stings of sin wear blunt anon : 
One learns to know with little fear 
How seldom love and life appear 
Full wedded in this lower sphere. 

XI. 

At times, my door shakes to and fro. 
And voices call, until I go 
To ask within some drunken foe — 
A foe, though in his hand he bears 
A draft that, if I quaff, he swears 
Shall drown beneath it all my cares. 
At times, there comes a softer voice 



I04 A LIFE IN SONG. 

That vows to make my veins rejoice : — 
Ah, they know not his better choice, 
Who with ideals for his friends 
Finds, in the light toward which he wends, 
What all the lure of wrong transcends. 

XII. 

At times, when wrapt in sleep profound, 
Loud cries and crashing sound around. 
Bewilder'd then from bed I bound, 
Too wise to speak, yet wild to call, 
I wander out, explore the hall. 
Dodge all I meet, yet dare them all. 
A bird, whose wings had glanc'd a dart, 
Felt not more flutterings at the heart. 
I linger, till in fear I start, 
Lest, if my cup of fear I fill, 
Insanity, the glee of ill, 
Shall rave upon the throne of will. 
Then, when I turn from all before. 
Swift flies from under me the floor, 
And swift with bolts I bar my door. 
As if some fiend behind me ran 
To scathe the spirit and the man. 

XIII. 

Calm sleep to weary limbs were sweet : 
Who cannot sleep, may scan the street. 



DOUBTING. 105 

And search for watchmen in their beat — 

Slow, dusky forms with echoing feet. 

I stretch far out : I gaze far round : 

'T is weird to hear no human sound, 

And be so high above the ground. 

I fancy I am thrown adown, 

Think how the news will stir the town : — 

" A youth was found stone dead, they say " ; 

" Ah, yes, I heard ; good-day, good-day," 

Ho, ho ! what now ? — why did I start 

And slam, with such a beating heart, 

The sash, yet leave the blinds apart ? 

This mirror mocks my wild grimace ! — 

Men differ slightly in the face : 

And how might mine a madman grace ? 

XIV. 

How near proud reason's realm may be 
That fierce Charybdis-craving sea, 
That drags toward madness you and me ! 
We wander toward its misty strand : 
There swells the wave ; here stops the land. 
How bright the sea ! how dull the sand! 
" Oh Guardian Sense," we cry " away ! " 
We wade the surf ; we feel the spray ; 
We leap !— and God prolongs our day. 
Ah, Holy Wisdom, if Thou be 
The Logos from the Sacred Three, 



Io6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Who all men's good and ill decree ; 

And if the wise above us dwell, 

The unwise then — but who can tell ?- 

May madness be the mood of hell, 

Where God, who ruleth, ruleth well ? 

If it be true that death translates 

To other spheres the self-same traits 

Our souls acquire in earthly states ; 

If it be true that after death 

The heat of some accursed breath 

Can into fever'd action fan 

All lusts that once inflamed the man, 

Till life grow one intense desire, 

A burning in a quenchless fire, 

A worm that gnaws and cannot die. 

Since worldly things no more supply 

What worldly wishes gratify, 

And flesh and blood no more remain 

To make a fleshly craving sane ; — 

If then the passions, anger'd sore 

Because indulged, as once, no more. 

Rise up, and rave, till reason swerve. 

And lose command of every nerve, — 

What state can anarchy preserve ? 

What state ? — O Christ, I see them now — 

Those teeth that gnash ! — and see why thou, 

To save our souls from future strife. 

Didst cast out devils in this life. 



DOUBTING, \Q>j 

XV. 

Far off, I hear the midnight bell, 

And watchman's cry, and, like a knell, 

My conscience calls : " For heaven or hell, 

One day toward death, and is all well ? " 

Like wrecks that up and down are toss'd. 

Till plunged beneath the waves and lost. 

How aimlessly, through blame and praise. 

Through depths of nights and heights of days. 

We men are swept along our ways ! 

But have our lives no nobler state 

Than drifting on with tides of fate ? — 

No power to stem them, while they feel 

The filling sail, the whirling wheel, 

The steadfast helm that guides the keel ? 

Tho' oft our course be turn'd about 

By wind and wave of hope and doubt, 

Come all our motives from without ? 

Does not some impulse oft begin 

With mind's propelling power within ? 

Is not the soul, whose low depths thrill. 

An offspring of perfection still ; 

And Godlike by creative will ? 

And yields not heaven some gleam to thought 

Or hope by spirit-whispers brought. 

To guide toward all our souls have sought ? 

Ay, ay ; do not clear skies reveal, 



I08 A LIFE IN- SONG. 

At times, to cheer our wavering zeal, 
Bright realms that mists no more conceal ? 

XVI. 

I know how deep and dark the vale 

Where some, fair fortune's heights to scale, 

Equipped with sword and shield and mail. 

Have found the power to wound the wrong. 

And dash aside its lances long. 

And press between its yielding throng ; 

Till all else wonder'd at the fight 

Whose brunts had made their mail so bright 

That older glory shunn'd its light. 

Anon, triumphant o'er the wrong. 

And thron'd above earth's cheering throng. 

As chosen chiefs of all the strong. 

Behold, they stand where honor dwells, 

And earth with pride their story tells. 

Nor envy evermore dispels 

Their joy that swells at victory's bells. 

XVII. 

Yes, all made men are self-made men : 
We ask too much of friendship then : 
The soul's best impulse, in the end. 
Is evermore the soul's best friend. 
And when truth's whispers all pertain 



I 



DOUBTING. 

To our souls only, why complain, 
Tho' none but us their import gain ? 
Let one, who honor craves, be strong 
In worth, to make dishonor wrong : 
Or, if he crave a sceptre, find 
A task that fits a sovereign mind. 
Their high ambition, do not doubt, 
Is heaven-directed and devout. 
Who strive, to plan, and then work out 
What God has given them souls to will ; 
With thankful hearts remembering still 
That shallow depths the soonest fill, 
And endless blessings wait in store 
For those alone who long for more. 

XVIII. 

Where so much good is yet untried, 
Our souls must all, if satisfied 
With what they have or are, abide 
Untaught, unhonor'd, and unblest ; 
For but to-day what is is best. 
The morrow's gain is all possess'd 
By those who journey ere they rest. 
Yet ne'er at daybreak had begun 
One ray a shining course to run 
But snakes crawl'd out to hiss the sun ; 
And e'er, if truth then dawn'd in view, 



109 



no A LIFE IN SONG. 

Would tongues, whose fangs in fury flew, 

Cry : " Who have seen the like ? Have you ? 

Ah me ! and what, forsooth, is new 

And strange to men's experience, 

'T would libel all their own past sense 

For them to treat with reverence ! 

Oft in earth's bigot-brotherhood 

The fools alone are understood, 

And stupid souls alone seem good. 

But, while the rest are dozing late, 

The genius, quick to sight his fate. 

Will wake and wish, and work, and wait. 

And fix his aim on looming schemes, 

Apart from those that earth esteems. 

Else would he mind but common themes. 

We are not always curst, when born 

By throes of nature's freak or scorn 

With moods abnormal and forlorn ; 

We are not curst ere we consent 

To dam our own development 

By choking down our discontent. 

If truth be something sought and learn'd, 

He most may gain, who most has yearn'd 

To fill a need he most discern'd. 

Ay, let the earth, too stern but just, 

Crush all our pride of thought to dust ; 

If still for growth in truth we trust, 

While faith can dare, it cannot die. 



DOUBTING. Ill 

With facts against it, 't will espy 
Far distant lights that guide its eye, 
Snatch hope from talons of despair, 
And welcome flight with fancies fair. 
In the vague light of ages old 
The poets were the first who told 
The truths to make late logic bold. 

XIX. , 

If only once the souls that climb 

So slowly up this mount of time, 

Could, with prophetic vision clear, 

See views that from its peaks appear ; 

Then gaze below, where foul mists creep 

Along black waters of the deep. 

Note slippery stones that trip the feet, 

Or slide beneath the indiscreet, 

How closely would they watch and tread 

The narrow, narrow paths ahead ! 

And then, should one a safe way trace 

O'er some supremely dangerous place. 

What could he do there save to try, 

Tho' plains were wide, and hills were high, 

To make those heed his warning cry, 

Who in the paths behind him moved ? 

Though means he chose to some but proved 

His madness and his meanness both 



112 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Which they must hound with many an oath ; 
Though he were kill'd where loom'd the danger, 
His corpse might save some coming stranger, 
Who in the stare of death could trace 
The aims that flush'd his living face. 

XX. 

Woe me, I boast, but cannot be ! 

A poet is a babe, whose plea 

Is whined in words. Alas for me. 

Can screaming scare away one's pain ? 

The rattlings of a restless brain. 

What good did ever rhymes obtain 1 

What is there good on earth but gold 1 

Life's bright paths hold a sordid fold, — 

Hold men like cattle bought and sold, 

Who treat each sky-born child of truth 

As valiantly as bulls, forsooth, 

That goar, and tramp, and leave to moan 

Sweet children caught in pastures lone. 

Nay, none who pass his protest by 

Will stop to heed the poet's cry, 

Or care if he survive or die. 

None aid, or deem his aim sublime, 

For only those who try to climb 

And reach the far-off heights of rhyme. 

Can know their distance. Fast flies time ." 



DOUBTING. 

Too hard I toil, to gain but bread ; 
And I would rather far be dead 
Than leave my life's report unsaid. 

XXI. 

How many men, compared to me, 
Tho' counted slaves, may still be free ? 
Those yet possess heaven's liberty, 
Whose minds are not in slavery. 
But ah, what hell-forged fetters rest 
Where one's own conscience must attest 
He would, but dare not, do his best, 
Because his lust or hunger waives 
The truth that but the spirit saves ! 

XXII. 

The truth for which I boast I care, — 
Who knows what it may be, or where ? 
Where is the man that owns the truth ? 
Do I ? or I alone forsooth. 
Who scarcely have outgrown my youth ? 
The minds that think I err, had done 
Much work ere mine had been begun : 
And they are many ; I am one. 
If they and I thus disagree. 
And I doubt whether truth can be 



113 



114 ^ LIP^ I^ SONG. 

In what seems true to only me. 
Humility may be my plea. 

XXIII. 

What right have I to blame the earth 

When I have woe and it has mirth ? 

Its throngs around me feast and dance, 

And all their joys in life enhance 

With friends, who prize their every glance ; 

While I, like some physician, trying 

His poisons on himself, am lying 

A martyr where none need my dying ; 

But scout my sick, insane idea, 

Too well to test my panacea. 

Why should they not ? A man of sense 

Trusts first his own experience ; 

Nor waives the truth he draws from thence 

For all mankind's experiments. 

But I, who seek the good of earth, 

Do I concede that it has worth ? 

Or does the world in me perceive 

That which can make it long to leave 

Its gains behind, and mine achieve ? 

Nay, let me seek some better way. 

When into doubtful paths they stray, 

The wise turn back, tho' fools may stay, 

Consistent — but that title lacks 



1 



DOUBTING. 115 

One word to make it fit the quacks, 
Where wisdom grows and change attacks, 
Consistent — monomaniacs . 

XXIV. 

Grand it is new life to borrow ; 
Like a spirit dead to sorrow, 
Dead to all earth's dread to-morrow, 
And to wake in realms of laughter, 
Free from grief before or after. 
Hail the eye, so brightly glancing. 
Hail the music, and the dancing. 
Hail the feast, and, echoing o'er us. 
Hail the wine-brought cheer and chorus. 
When such joyous deeds employ us, 
Why should graver thoughts annoy us ? 

On the dance ! — but ah, what feeling 

O'er the soul is vaguely stealing 

Through the blaze and buzz and wheeling ? 

When the best ideals lure one. 

Only then can aught assure one 

That his motive is a pure one. 

Who would let a soul, nor fear it, 

Be embraced with no love near it, 

Both to cherish and revere it ? 

Back to music ! Ah, to use it, 
Seems all holy when we muse it. 



Il6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Surely wrong could not abuse it ! 
All our lives, we start and wonder, 
In this under world, what blunder 
Woke in heaven the voice of thunder. 
Yet it peals ; and oh, how sadly, 
Like the storms that gather madly 
Over days that dawn so gladly, 
Burst on heavenliest harmonies 
Notes from where no music is! 

Back to feasting ! Ha, they cheer it. 
Here 's to health ! — they do not hear it ? 
Here 's to health ! — what, dare they jeer it ? 
Lo, they tremble — Do they fear it ? 
Look — my soul ! — a man has tumbled ; 
Shown himself a beast, and humbled 
Man and God, at whom he grumbled. — 
Moans a wife now never sleeping, 
Babes that her thin hands are keeping : — 
Waits a grave where none are weeping. 

Back from earth ! No, fruit is in it 
Fit for peeling. Who begin it. 
Find the fruit has worms within it. — 
What, my soul, does good decay so ? 
Let me lie before I say so ! 
Heaven would let the devil never 
Rile clear springs that gush and ever 
Thus refresh our faint endeavor. 



DOUBTING. 117 

Our own spirit, when too near it, 
Taints the good that comes to cheer it : 
We debase until we fear it, 
Joy that was not meant to curse us, 
But to nerve us and to nurse us. 
Oh, for right to re-imburse us ! 
And the day, to dawn above all, 
Where, at last, we all can love all ! 

XXV. 

When sad from self-satiety, 
Why should one shun society ? — 
It rouses him from introspection, 
And routs his dreams of drear dejection. 
I think, as pools, whose overflow 
Not freely off through earth can go, 
Will breed foul mists, that reek and rise 
And dim the earth and cloud the skies. 
Our thoughts, if not allow'd to flow 
Toward others freely — who can know ? — 
With vapory whims may blear the mood, 
And thus deform the objects view'd, 
And half the light of life exclude. 
An eye, made dim, may facts gainsay 
And see, in fairest forms at bay. 
But lions fierce that fill the way. 
When dull to sounds, a man may fear 



Il8 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And take the rumbling he may hear 
Within his own disorder'd ear 
For footsteps of advancing strife. 
Whate'er we seek or shun in life, 
Too often we ourselves conjure 
The direst foes its veils obscure. 
Come then, my soul, and open wide 
Those doors that keep the world outside ; 
And welcome, as thine own, the worth 
Of sunlight, beauty, friendship, mirth, 
Design'd for him whose home is earth. 

XXVI. 

Amid the traits of multitudes 

The Maker speaks through many moods 

Of truths that are not understood 

By those who by themselves do brood. 

And better be, in lone despair, 

Some king's court fool, astride a chair. 

Who dreams he rules a kingdom there, 

With stock-still statues his hussars. 

And scarfs of Knighthood, but the scars 

Deep-whipt across his bleeding back. 

Than be a man whose life must lack 

The love that waits on friendship's throne. 

For all our worth is crown'd alone. 

When friends have made our cause their own. 



DOUBTING. 119 

XXVII. 
What power on earth compares with love ? 
It rules alone in heaven above. 
But love in heaven is always just ; 
And so I think I would not trust, 
But fear a friend, by day or night, 
Whose love contain'd no love of right. 
The world is wide, and wisdom strange ; 
To find it one must freely range ; 
And, when from this to that we change, 
We lose our friend, unless his mood 
Will justly weigh our former good 
With what is now misunderstood. 
And though he cannot see our goals. 
Have faith enough to trust our souls, — 
Faith man as well as God demands 
From every soul that near him stands. 
Oft, when so far and hid, how could 
We point our goals out, if we would ; 
Yet then we like to be thought good ! 
And oft there comes a need of rest. 
No strength have we to do our best ; 
And then, if friends yet seek a test, 
Our home is like a sick bird's nest. 
Whose fellows' beaks all pierce his breast. 
Strange cure ! — yet 't is an old complaint, 
That much of love, when only faint, 
They peck to death to make a saint. 



I20 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXVIII. 

Within our souls is much of yearning 
That patient thoughts are slowly turning 
To deepest and to broadest learning 
That cannot answer back a " why ? " 
Like sailors, when they watch a sky 
Where fogs, offscourings of the sea, 
Becloud their sight, so often we 
Must guess our reckonings, it may be. 
Then ye who with us onward sail, 
And watch our ways, with faces pale, 
And, hissing fiercely as the gale, 
Our right of reticence deny, 
Ye force us, if we must reply. 
To make your fears increase, or lie. 

XXIX. 

Ah, in our good society, 

(Where things that gain acceptancy 

Are fashion's phrases, and an air 

Which, caught with neither thought nor care, 

Make wits and fools both equal there). 

Lies oft seem wiser than the truth. 

Like bodies why should souls, forsooth. 

Not be well padded, stay'd, and laced 

To suit the world's prevailing taste, 

Till through the form no truth is traced ? 



DOUBTING. 121 

And so to play with lies may be 
The surest way to sound the key 
That makes all social tones agree ;— 
Ay, it the one sure note may strike 
That moves all men to act alike. 
And yet if love must love the soul, 
What power more lovely can control 
The men we meet, than words and ways 
Unveiling life so all can gaze 
On thought behind the outward phase, 
While every eye serene and bright. 
Transparent with the inward light, 
Reveals what thrills angelic sight ! 
If one in friends like these confide. 
He need not fear what veils may hide 
In moods that back of them abide. — 
I watch'd a man and maid, to-day : 
Each dimm'd the other's eyes with spray. 
He dash'd from his life's dregs unseen 
What pleased the lady's wistful mien, — 
A maid not vicious, yet I ween 
Not loath to be, with open eyes. 
His mate whom honor could not prize. 
Ah, lust is lush in flatteries wise ! 
Full well she liked her dash of danger 
With such a spicy, saucy stranger — 
But let them pass. For conquest girt. 
The man a rake, the maid a flirt. 



122 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Will get, when caught, their own desert ; 
Be prey ; and prey are always hurt. 

XXX. 

Who craves the fruit of friendship knows 
How worthless now is much that grows. 
Our friends, at times, are parasites. 
Who drain our strength, to crawl to heights 
On which they thrive on other's rights. 
At times, not made for light, they spring, 
As fits an upstart underling, 
Beneath the shade our branches fling. 
In either case, it scarce would suit 
Their aims, to bear the best of fruit. 
The usual yield that fills the stalk 
Is promissory buds of talk. 
Or gossip-tales — which spring around. 
If low-lived friends gain slightest ground, 
Like toadstools where decay is found. 
These gossips all are scavengers 
Of nobler people's characters. 
And how can one of taste or sense 
Be made, and yet take no offence, 
The cess-pools of their confidence ? 

XXXI. 

They scarcely let one rest in bed ; 
They whisper so, till all have said 



DOUBTING. 123 

Their worst about some heart or head. 

Mean slanderers of characters, 

These friends that stick to us like burrs, 

Throng every home, and boast an ear 

Well hugg'd against one's heart, to hear 

Each secret throb of hope or fear. 

Why tell they what they ne'er have known ? 

And force one, since he cannot own, 

To leave their untrue love alone? 

A time there was I thought mankind 

Had all an inborn right to find 

How truth appeal'd to every mind. 

How noble is the task, I thought, 

When one has wisdom gain'd in aught, 

To show what he has thus been taught ! 

And this to do, my every nerve 

I strain'd and pain'd, so all might serve 

For men to harp on. But the strings 

I held to them, were scarce the things 

For them to harp on with content. 

Men guess not oft the whole truth meant 

By words that voice another's thought. 

The truth would seem too cheap, if brought 

To souls that ne'er for it had sought. 

XXXII. 

A man who cannot bear abuse 
Would better live a mere recluse, 



124 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Than turn his own soul inside out 

Because, forsooth, men stand in doubt 

Of what he thinks the most about. 

Alas, where foes our souls assail, 

Not all can conquer, stript of mail, 

What spurs the firm may wound the frail. 

Ere more I stoop to be earth's fool, 

I swear to figure as its ghoul, 

And chum with nightmares, to affright 

A world that keeps my soul in night; 

Or play the owl, and rouse a toot 

So mean that all shall at me hoot. 

Hail open hatred ! but earth's fangs 

And secret hissings bring one pangs 

No nerve can measure. These I fear 

And from them seek my attic here 

That shields me like a soul in clouds, 

When one has left the grave's white shrouds 

And crawling worms that gnaw'd his heart, 

Ere he and things of earth did part. 

XXXIII. 

It is not wholly misery. 
To be bereft of sympathy. 
Perchance, a wise Omnipotence 
Makes plain mere surface-difference 
To join men in a deeper sense. 
Beneath the whur of worldly strife, 



DOUBTING. 125 

All undisturb'd, there dwells a life 

That feels the tender infant-plea 

Of something grander yet to be. 

There winds do whisper, waves have speech, 

And shapes and shades have features each 

That friendly to the soul appear, 

And bring a Spirit subtly near. 

And make the truth of heaven seem clear. 

Perchance, when driven to gaze away 

From earth, to find life's perfect day, 

A soul so yearns for what should be 

That God, who always will decree 

His presence where men bend the knee. 

Trails, through the strange unearthly light, 

His robes that, while they blind the sight, 

Yet lure men onward toward the right. 

XXXIV. 

Of late, when I am all alone, 
I try to make the tests my own 
That wise Philosophy has known. 
My questioning thought to satisfy, 
With eager soul but patient eye, 
I search in every moving thing, 
To find, at last, its hidden spring. 
I fancy it is fire or air 
Or mind itself so conjuring there. 
I press against the window pane, 



126 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Ask — feels my nerve ? or feels my brain ? 

What is it joins my sense and soul ? 

Is it the Absolute's control ? 

Or is it faith ? or is it aught 

Beyond the ebb and flow of thought ? 

Am I, who muse thus, made to be — 

Responsible in no degree — 

The vagrant wave of some vast sea ? 

Or am I more than most men deem, — 

Are forms that round about me gleam, 

Things not substantial as they seem, 

But only phantoms of a dream ? 

If so, if not, can men, forsooth. 

With all their searching, find the truth ? 

Or do their eyes, approaching near 

The grandeur sought, with vision blear 

See all things falsely looming here ? — 

Then flashes right, as lightnings glance ? 

Or dawns it o'er some dozing trance ? 

Shall one know more when earth is done ? 

Reach misery ? or oblivion ? 

Or through some mystic, spiral way 

A Babel mount, and there survey 

An earth become a heaven for aye ? 

XXXV, 

But hold ! thus thinking, I but hie 
Some new-robed heresy to try 



DOUBTING, 

Which made, of old, a martyr die. 
Then is the church the source of right ? 
Or is the state ? or is the light 
Of conscience ? or is happiness ? 
Or noblest wish ? or what men guess 
Shall most the most of mortals bless ? — 
When, started once in plainest ways, 
My pathway winds amid a maze 
Where things I hate destroy my trust, 
And nothing more seems kind or just. 
Then why search I save what is nigh ? 
These earthly eyes can never spy 
Beyond where heaven has hung the sky. 

XXXVI. 

Ah, that which made the stars made earth ; 
And heaven's is one with human worth. 
The light that lures beyond all sin 
Is one with love's that burns within. 
Whate'er I doubt, I know full well 
Who made the soul must it impel ; 
Whate'er may fail, heaven must reveal 
The truth to those who truly feel 
That they pursue a true ideal. 
And so, when ceaseless calls appeal, 
One dare not from them turn away. 
Nay, nay, he must some work essay, 
However slight, in every fray. 



127 



128 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Who blows a bugle, beats a drum, 

Or jingles rhymes, may rouse in some 

That spirit which, in truth's grand war, 

Gains all this life is given for ! 

Yes, truth there is — I long have thought — 

One finds, when he has merely sought. 

XXXVII. 

Alas, but still desire will sink. 

And faint, and almost die, to think 

'T is now well nigh six thousand years 

That Lamech's verse has voiced his fears, 

And men have search'd all earth about, 

Nor is there yet aught less of doubt. 

Oh, what can one late poet say 

That he has found, to aid their way 1 

Or how can one late poet know 

If good or ill be friend or foe? 

What is the power that lures a soul 

In ways beyond its own control. 

Till fever'd so by strange delights 

Of dreamy days and sleepless nights ? 

Ah, why should one who shrinks from sight 

Essay to push where fame's clear light 

Can make him but a target bright. 

Where every individual mood 

And all the best he has pursued 

Is flouted or misunderstood ? — 



DOUBTING. 129 

Where sense might rather wish to be 
A wild beast caged for men to see 
Than be a lion such as he ? — 
With every word he speaks the cause 
Of public jeering or applause, 
And every one he loves, in fear 
That half the world will elbow near ; 
Through life a slave to scrutiny, 
When dead, a dress'd-up efifigy, 
A puppet of biography, 
That dances high or dances low 
To please the men who make him go — 
To please the men who strip him bare, 
To bring him shame, or make him wear 
A suit striped like a convict's, where, 
With every hue that helps his fame, 
Alternate shades insure him blame ? 
Ye fools, who ne'er for wisdom sought, 
And ne'er for deeds immortal wrought. 
Ye never knew, nor fancied aught 
That near'd at all the inward thought 
Of men of truth, whose footsteps went 
Through life that was one long ascent : 
They did not seek a monument. 

XXXVIII. 

All wild with my bewilder'd thought, 
I paced the silent night, and sought 



130 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Some rest like heaven's dear rest above. 
Some love to teach me more of love. 
I reached a church with open door, 
Whence music o'er the air did pour, 
The air that trembled as it bore 
These sacred sounds of holy lore : — 

XXXIX. 

" Father of our spirits, hear us, 
And in mercy now draw near us, 
And with Thy blest presence cheer us, 

While our spirits look to Thee. 
Thou for whom the stars are burning. 
Do not, Lord, disdain the yearning 
Of the hearts to Thy heart turning, 

With their wants their only plea. 

" Long in doubt's dark ways abiding. 
Lord, we need Thy light and guiding, 
Minds to know, and souls confiding 

In Thy precious truth and love. 
When Thine inward voice invited, 
And desires for good incited, 
We have still'd, because we slighted 

All that call'd our souls above, 

" Even if, forsaking pleasure, 
We have sought for truth like treasure. 
Oft we but would test the measure 

Of what our own strength could do ; 
And, beyond our best endeavor, 
Full assurance found we never 



DOUBTING. 131 

That, if wrong, the old life ever 
Can be cancelled by the new. 

" Naught is left us, Lord, we feel it, 
Holy writ and reason seal it. 
And all loving lives reveal it, — 

But to cast ourselves on Thee. 
Here we come before Thee kneeling, 
Moved by far too little feeling ; 
Yet to grace divine appealing, 

Wilt Thou, Lord, reject our plea ? 

" Nay, our souls for mercy sighing, 
Think of Jesus, living, dying, 
And they know Thy love replying 

Need not wait for worth in us. 
With our strength impair'd and sinking. 
From each nobler duty shrinking, 
Lord, we praise Thee most in thinking 

Thou wilt yet receive us thus. 

" Thou wilt. Lord, from Thy high station. 
Pardon us, and send salvation, 
Till Thy Spirit's inspiration 

Make us all we ought to be. 
Void of good, yet Thou canst make us 
Fill'd with what Thou wilt. Oh, take us. 
Own us, hold us, nor forsake us, 
For our spirits look to Thee." 

XL. 

Scarce into stillness died the song, 
Ere tones rose up so sweetly strong 



132 A LIFE IN SONG. 

They check'd the rustling of the throng, 
As Christ's own voice above the sea 
Calm'd once the troubled Galilee. 
Then, while I paused yet more to hear. 
Like storm-toss'd seas made calm and clear, 
In which the mirror'd heavens appear. 
My moods, no more in sad commotion. 
Were fill'd with heaven-inspired devotion; 
And, as the sailor, while the waves 
Are roll'd apart like opening graves. 
Recalls a time of calm he craves ; 
Thus oft my life, as woes increase, 
Recalls with joys that never cease 
These words that fill'd me then with peace : 

XLI. 

" ' The truth — the tmth shall make you free.* Ah, friends, 
"What would your spirits give, could they be free ? — 
I mean your spirits, friends : all gospel truths 
Are given for these : I mean those moods within, 
Those thoughts and wishes that are ever ruled 
By something that seems not to leave them free, — 
By some vague force that in the inmost soul 
Holds all the reins of action, guiding one 
Along some safe but strait and narrow way ; 
Now checking thoughts that long to turn from it ; 
Now in the right course urging faster on 
Too sluggish wills, or lashing their revolt 
With all the scorpion scourges of remorse. 



DOUBTING, 



133 



No matter by what name men term this force — 

Their conscience, their ideal, their inward light — 

It wakes in every soul that lives, a sense 

That each, so far as he may know the truth, 

Should ever struggle to obey it too. 

You, who in bondage feel because your lives 

Have made your conscience curb you for your sins, 

Think not your conscious wills can rid your souls 

Of that which will not mind a mortal will. 

The law of truth, which is our spirit's law. 

Is omnipresent as our spirit's Lord. 

You cannot fly from it. Your vain revolt 

But works your ruin, like a rebel's rage 

That but calls forth a king's authority. 

The truth can never change. 'T is yours to change 

And love its rightful rule. And would you ask 

How can one love this vague, uncertain thing 

Men term the truth ? — Friends, it would not be vague, 

If we could know but one whose words and works 

To it had been conform'd. And One there was 

Who, when his mien, transparent with a light 

That seem'd the truth's, had drawn men toward himself, 

Said — what they all had felt — ' I am the truth.' 

Think you his claim so strange ? Had eartli no need, 

No deep desire for one to image forth 

This truth that rules our spirits, that he be 

Our leader and our teacher of the right ? — 

Ay, more than this, the inspirer of our love ? 

Ah, friends, if he who lived to do earth good, 

Denying self, and dying, at the last, 

To save the world from falsehood and from fault, — 

If his life were, indeed, the life of truth, 

"What can we do, if just alone to self, 



134 A LIFE IN- SONG. 

But love the truth and live the truth, and be 

Ourselves the saviors of our smaller spheres ? 

Ay, while we watch the law that he lived out, 

Our love will follow him, instinctively ; 

And, while he draws us onward toward himself. 

Our outward lives will serve truth's inward laws, 

Unconscious of the conscience that but checks 

The course of him who moves toward conscious wrong. 

Then, friends, then would you seek the thing you wish 

Nor feel your conscience curb you, wish for truth ; 

For when your spirits learn to know of this. 

And love and trust and live it, yours will be 

A will that heaven itself can never bind. 

" And more, dear friends ; below the reach of will, 
Oh, have you never felt within the soul 
Desires that search far off in thoughts that steal 
All rest from sleep through dreams and revery ; 
As if the spirit in its loneliness 
Were haunted by some long-lost sympathy, 
And struggling to regain the sunder'd state ? — 
Deem not to end these wants by earthly gains. 
While seeking them, the boy would be a man, 
Maids blush for maidenhood, and lovers kneel, 
Then firecely strive for wealth and power and fame. 
But, tho' they know it not, they ever strive 
For gains that loom beyond their earthly sphere, 
Until their wasted energies give way. 
Or mount earth's thrones to feel they rule, alas, 
Like Alexander, only vanity. 
For ah, their spirits crave the Infinite, 
Nor can be sated save by that embrace 
Which makes them one with God, when every vein 



DOUBTING. 135 

In all their nature thrills to feel within 

The omnipresent current of the love 

That pulses from the heart of hearts to which 

All spiritual being owes its life. 

And what can join our spirits to their source, 

And free them from the grasp of finite things, 

Except the law of truth, as it controls 

Our lives, when in our souls we learn to know 

And live a love like his who was the truth ? 

The world has its encircling customs too, 

Drawn sharply round the spheres we fill in life. 

They make one shame-faced, make the soul a slave. 

We need the truth to free us from the world. 

How can it, ask you ? — Why. friends, those who live 

For truth, find all their weakness, well confess'd. 

No cause for shame ! Nay, nay, they kneel to join. 

With what they are, and not what they are not. 

The royal priesthood of humanity. 

Before the waiting shrine this priesthood serves 

There can be no one, not the least of men, 

But has his mission. Half a mortal he, 

And half a spirit ; half the son of earth. 

And half of heaven ; it is his work divine 

To mediate for his race between the two ; 

To take the life God gave him at his birth, — 

Its germ, its growth, and all its varied fruit, — 

And offer it, like him — that greater priest 

Who offer'd more — a willing sacrifice 

Upon life's altar, where the heaven-born soul 

Is tested and refined by fires of earth. 

Then must he work with whatsoe'er survives, 

And show to men his preservations grand 



136 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Of common things that they profane and slight. 

And hush their murmurs by sublime appeals 

That urge their spirits to the spirit's best. 

Thus can he fill a worthy sphere, and be 

Earth's humble victim, who, its prophet too, 

Reveres his life for what his life reveals. 

Oh, you who crave men's faith in what you are, 

No selfish wish need yours be, if you crave 

No praises for your faults, but shun afar, 

With equal dread, false frowns and flatteries. 

Ay, you do right. God speed your yearning souls ! 

Crave manhood's mission, earth's acknowledgment 

That you are priests, its honor for your truth. 

And, with your own, the world's development. 

" Live self, but live not for self. Not for one. 
For all of us the truth brings liberty ; 
For our own spirits, when we serve the right. 
Free wishes, hearts, and hands ; for others charity. 
Still more and more do truth's joint heirs with Christ, 
Without regard to others' praise or blame. 
Love all who love the truth that makes them free. 
Ah, when one learns how infinite this is, 
How many are its ministers, and how 
They differ infinitely in their ways, 
He learns to reverence every word and deed. 
No matter whose or what, that does not keep 
The truth back from its final victory. 
Tho' he himself may be misunderstood. 
Gainsaid and thwarted by the very souls 
With whom his has enhsted, if they yet 
Press bravely forward, he may feel for them. 
If less than whole love, more than interest. 



DOUBTING. 137 

His lord-like spirit, like the spirit's Lord, 

Content to work or wait, to do or die, 

If but the truth he serves may be supreme." 

XLII. 

Do I still doubt ? — at least I know 
That truth and faith within us grow 
Not like the weed the wind may sow. 
They are not things that spring unsought, 
Nor do they spring — as tho' 't were naught 
To will and do — from merely thought. 
Give monks the meed of vague abstraction, 
But noblest souls find satisfaction, 
And consciousness of life, in action. 
*T is they that, where they cannot know, 
Walk on by faith, who strengthen so 
The faith by which they further go. 
'T is they that try what work can earn. 
Who test their own work's worth, and turn 
From wrong to right for which they yearn. 
'T is they whose thinking aids their kind. 
Who, while they help their brothers, find 
The truth that most rules every mind. 
And, while to this they too adjust 
Their lives, because they feel they must. 
Their faith beholds the form august 
Of God behind each form of dust ; 
For God's truth only all men trust. 



138 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And so I hold that work controls 
The life that blesses most our souls. 

XLIII. 

Ah me, to think what all could win, 

In spite of natures prone to sin. 

By working well their wealth within ! — 

For it, like gems of priceless worth, 

That fill the mire and mines of earth, 

Oft gains its dearness from its dearth ; 

Nor oft is got, until, at last, 

The pick, or flood, or fire, or blast 

Has rent the place that held it fast. 

Then wonder not that wreck and woe 

Should be one's lot on earth below. 

Kind heaven itself may open so 

The spirit's depth, its worth to show. 

Earth needs the sight. All men who try 

To glorify the Lord on high 

Must prove his goodness through their own. 

They cannot lead one toward His throne. 

Save through the Godlike traits alone 

That their transfigured lives have shown. 

XLIV. 

Too many sate their souls with arts 
That fit their lips, but not their hearts. 
Not skill to chide another's pride 



DOUBTING. 139 

Can make a wise or welcome guide ; 
But he the best for noble deeds 
Inspires his kind, who best succeeds 
In finding what his own soul needs. 
Though others' need to his be small, 
He may be less, yet more than all. 
Nay, God gives each an equal call, 
With ill to bear and good to share 
And, whether it be full or spare. 
Some truth to show the Godlike there. 
Let then the Spirit's voice be heard, 
Tho' warbling only like a bird 
Vague sounds that hardly hint a word. 
The men who hear that call on high, 
I will believe, if toward the sky 
They turn, and think that love is nigh, 
Are bless'd tho' they but heave a sigh. 
Who wants to fill an earthly throne 
Birth gave him not ? — Far better own 
Oneself and be oneself alone. 





OTE FOURTH 



The morrow came, and with it 
came again 

The people eager for the poet's 
rhymes. 

" He whom we mourn," the soldier said, " knew well 
That all men's wisdom flows from each man's 

thought ; 
And every page of progress but records 
The impress of this thought express'd in deed. 
So when he deem'd that he his doubt had fathom'd 
And found truth's rock beneath, he could not rest 
And not proclaim it. When the Sabbath came 
It found him hard at work in school or church. 
Ten years, content with gains from week-day toil, 
He gave all Sabbaths to his fellow-men. 
He taught, he preach'd, and help'd in home and 

lane 
The sick and poor ; and much he loved the work ; 
And loved the little children of his flock ; 
And loved their mothers as the soul may love ; 

IdO 



NOTE FOURTH. 14I 

But loved the full-grown men most heartily ; 
For he could give strong feeling vent with them, 
Nor find them shatter'd by its vehemence. 
^ Give me the spirit,' I have heard him say, 
' That comes to meet my own with every thought 
Full-girded for a final test of strength. 
From tilts with it my soul that strives its best 
Emerges conscious of new power acquired. 
Ah, could they all who plead with men for truth. 
Meet face to face convictions that are strong, 
How strong would grow the pleaders, and how wise! 
No longer, fill'd with fear lest prejudice 
Should flee the shock of unaccustomed thought, 
Would coward-caution hush to voiceless death 
The truth that breathes within. Earth would not 

hold 
One pulpit echoing like a parrot-cage 
The thought-void accents of a rote-learn'd creed ; 
Nor heed one preacher like a cell-bound monk 
Who, knowing men as boys in school know flowers. 
Not as they grow, but pluck'd and press'd in books. 
Would rather save the pictures of the soul 
Sketch'd on some small cell wall, than one live soul 
In whose free thinking God depicts himself.* 
Thus oft the printer-preacher spoke, — a man 
Full-hearted, fit to be a poet too. 
And speak and write of what we now shall read." 




%.EEKING. 



My spirit, moving on to higher 
life, 

At one sad place became a 
prey to strife ; 
For many oft would cross my path, and say 
Their souls were moving in the better way ; 
And mere delusions had allured my feet 
Along the course my faith had found so sweet. 
At this, then, like a child, who turns to leave 
The wranglings of his mates that make him grieve, 
And rest his weary head upon that breast 
Whose firm maternal love can bear it best, 
My mind would turn to nature. Where but there 
Could earth-born trouble find maternal care ? 
How long'd I to be hidden in the shade 
Which the thick mantlings of her forests made. 
And stay there undisturb'd by human thought. 
Till sweet and soothing influences, brought 
From sources far removed from man's control 
Should cool the burning fever of my soul ! 
142 



SEEKING. 143 

So, for a season bidding men farewell, 
I dwelt alone within a grove-grown dell. 



Thence wandering forth one still clear night I 

found 
Beneath the moon that rose up, large and round, 
Through vistas opening like some temple's aisles. 
Great trees that arched the moveless air for miles. 
Their spreading boughs, like shadowy rafters, lined 
A star-filled dome, and oft, where foliage twined 
In leafy fretwork round each trailing limb, 
Flash'd bright with dew. Beneath them, fair 

though dim. 
About the trees' wide trunks, in half seen bowers, 
And pushing up through paths I trod, were flowers. 
I seem'd their nature's lord ; for, when my feet 
Would crush them as I pass'd, they grew more 

sweet. 

III. 

Anon a brook before my vision spread. 

It seem'd a path that fairy feet could tread, — 

A path of silver, o'er a jewell'd ground. 

Which far away toward heaven-like mountains 

wound. 
White mists were clinging to the brook's bright side. 
Like spirit bands I thought them, whom its tide 



144 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Lull'd softly, couch'd amid the dark-leaved trees, 
Awaiting bugles of the morning breeze, 
And all the rush of daybreak sweeping by. 
To bear them off in glory to the sky. 

IV. 

At times, mysterious whurs of winds and wings 
And whisperings rose, with long-drawn echoings, 
*T was music, lingering lovingly along 
The breeze its fragrance freighted, like a song 
From bay-bound barks in hazy autumn calms ; 
Nor less it sway'd my soul than slow low psalms, 
Begun where organ blasts that roar'd and rush'd 
And made the air-waves roll, are swiftly hush'd. 
And our thrill'd breasts inhale as well as hear 
The awe-fiU'd sweetness of the atmosphere. 



How calmly did such sights and sounds impart 

Their own deep calmness to my troubled heart ! 

With gratitude for each toy-touch of air 

At play on my knit brow, I rested there. 

But while I rested, lo, a stranger's form 

Push'd through the white bars of the moonlight 

warm ; 
And with a soft slow movement near me came, 
The while his face, tho* mute, smiled forth to claim 



SEEKING. 145 

Full sympathy with me ere either spoke ; 
But soon his voice upon the silence broke ; — 



VI. 

"Who loves not, where all shapes and sounds we 

test 
So charm us by the mysteries they suggest, 
To throw aside, or strive to throw, at least. 
Beliefs that satisfy our times, and feast 
On superstition, and half credit freaks 
With which fair fancy lured those dreamy Greeks. 
Our older age has dropt the young world's joys. 
And takes life earnestly ; but it employs 
Its ardor too much like an o'ergrown boy's, 
Whose fist and arm so often plied in strife 
But show his brain is weak. There are in life 
Deep truths we value not. We rend apart 
The forms of nature, but have little heart 
To prize the hints to thought that meet our view. 
And we forget that mysteries too are true ; 
And we forget the bourn beyond the blue ; 
And we forget about the silent pall ; 
And faith, which only holds the key of all, 

VII. 

" More wise it were to feel that ^olus 
Here held the tempest back, so Zephyrus 



146 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Might tune for his fair wife, through long, dear hours, 

Tones richer than the music of her bowers ; 

Nor ever made discordant by wild showers 

Or pipes of wilder winds. More wise it were 

To thank the gods of woods and waves astir, 

That here there come no Harpies to affright 

The soul that longs to linger in delight. 

That here no vultures' plumes and vipers' forms 

Emerge from out the depths of streams and storms ; 

That voices of the Sirens lure none here ; 

Nor scorpion scourges, nor coil'd snakes appear 

All matted o'er hags' faces, chuckling near 

The grim-fix'd mask of Fate. Instead of these, 

What joy to muse on passing Naiades ! 

And bands of those home-loving Dryades, 

Call'd out to join the serenading groups 

That gather round the sweet Hamadryad troops. 

Or hear the Napseae, singing through the vale. 

The while the Echo speeds her flight to hail 

The long array of Oread choirs that give her 

The mountain's answer to the sea and river. 

VIII. 

" More wise than doubting all, 't were e'en to think 
That oft the Graces haunt this brooklet's brink. 
With Fauns and all the rustic retinue 
Of Bacchus ; or, as old engravers drew 
On Pyrrhus's agate, at some greener spot. 



SEEKING. 147 

Join'd hand in hand, all other cares forgot, — 
The scroll and mask and lute that mark their 

craft, — 
And merry o'er a fresh Castalian draft. 
With voice and tread, the sacred nine aspire 
To match in time Apollo's nervous lyre ; 
While through it all the reeds of Syrinx play. 
And make harmonious each diverging lay." 

IX. 

He turn'd away ; and I, who, well pleased, heard, 
Could not but follow him. Without a word 
We walk'd at first, like pilgrims near a shrine 
They much revere, who, fill'd with thrills too fine 
To throb through words accented, satisfy 
Their souls by feeling that the god is nigh. 
"Alas, how many a thought," he said at last, 
" Whose accents reach us through the rustling blast, 
Or meaning seems inscribed in circling rills. 
And outlines of the rocks, the trees, the hills. 
Is void of purport to the soul whose eyes 
Have never yet been taught to know and prize 
The purpose underneath ! Forms can impart 
Their import only to a feeling heart. 



" All things created can for thought procure 
No more than one's creative thoughts conjure 



148 A LIFE IN SONG. 

From out their forms. A likeness in them speaks 
To like in us, the while our spirit seeks 
Close contact with their own. For nature is 
Transparent, and reveals her mysteries 
To mortals only whose own sympathies 
Make them transparent, opening all between 
Themselves and nature, so that naught can screen 
Her inmost meaning from their inmost mind. 
Such spirits in earth's round horizon find 
A glass divine — like that called Claude Lorraine's — 
A strange, strong lens that deep within contains 
Heaven's forms for thought, made small in scope 

to match 
Man's comprehension. But how few can catch 
Heaven's meaning through the forms. How few 

so wise 
That they can look beneath the rustling guise 
Of Nature's vestments, and perceive below 
The mind informing them, that makes them glow 
With living truth. Alas, how many souls, 
As blind to all that might be seen as moles. 
Live, merely burrowing in earth's dust and gloom 
To make their whole surroundings but a tomb 
Wherein dead minds may lie. And yet how grand 
Might life become, could all but understand 
The thoughts that flow with brooks in every glade, 
And grow to strengthen souls with every blade 
Of verdure in the spring-time ! Could they read 



SEEKING, 149 

And know and use earth rightly, then, indeed. 
Might heaven too open above them, while they too 
Would cry like Paul, ' What wilt Thou have me 
do?' 

XI. 

" We mortal men may all be priests, high priests 

Of nature, who may gather in from beasts 

And birds and creeping things, and sky, and earth. 

That which each form reveals of truth or worth, 

And, in our higher natures, find a speech 

To voice the praise that thought can frame for each. 

Can aught on earth give right supremacy, 

Except this priesthood of humanity ? 

Where burn the altar-fires that can make pure 

Earth's wrong and dross, and through their flames 

insure 
True worship for all forms of life or art, 
If not enkindled in the human heart ? 



XII. 

" Believe me, in humanity it is. 

In charities, and kindly courtesies. 

In eyes that sparkle, and in cheeks that blush 

With love and hope and faith, which make them 

flush. 
That all the bloom and fruitage of the earth 
Attain their consummation and their worth. 



I50 A LIFE IN SONG, 

Deep underneath our nature is a power 

That, pushing forth through soil and seed and 

flower, 
Moves on and out through all of sentient life, 
And struggles most in man ; nor can the strife 
Be ended ever, till the force controls 
The last least impulse that impels our souls. 
E'en then this power, inspiring words and deeds, 
Though check'd, at times, in customs or in creeds, 
Anon bursts through all these to show the stress 
Of that behind them which would thus express 
Through finite forms that it is limitless." 

XIII. 

Here stealing silence from his final word. 

Because 1 greatly prized the thoughts I heard, 

I ask'd who was it thus communed with me. 

" One who would lead your soul to faith," said he ; 

" While studying nature and humanity. 

You learn to trace the spirit's destiny." 

"While studying humanity," I said, 

" Some slight far grander interests overhead. 

Their deep concern for human worthiness 

Prompts earthly love not more, but heavenly 

less. — 
Though you seem not for this cause to ignore, 
But rather value God and heaven the more." 



SEEKING. 1 5 I 

XIV. 

" Why not ? " he question'd. " Is God's coin a 

fraud ? 
His impress can you see, and not be awed ? 
Should one not search His image ? — for I fear 
They see but sense who seek not spirit here." 
" Alas," rejoin'd I, " once my soul essay'd 
To seek Him thus, but it no progress made. 
My thoughts of man in growing old, grow sad, 
And learn the more, the more to learn of bad." 
" And are you sure," he said, " that your complaint 
Bespeaks a healthful mood ? Is health so faint ? — 
The earth is not a heaven, nor man a saint ; 
But truths there are to which our faith may cling. 
And trace with joy some good in every thing. 



XV. 

*' There lifts a height," he said, "beyond this hill, 
Where once, as runs the tale, with moveless will, 
Judea's Christ was tempted to the wrong. 
The paths that lead there are so rough and long 
That few men ever mount them ; but those few, 
Amid clear heavenly air that aids their view, 
In some strange way, to man a mystery, 
May find reveal'd the whole world's history, 
While all its kingdoms and its customs lie 
As if a living map beneath the eye." 



152 A LIFE IN SONG. 

" But," ask'd I, " is a soul still tempted there ? "— 
" Yes," he replied, " but those who walk with care, 
Are well repaid. Times come when men no more 
Are tempted by what tempted them of yore." — 



XVI. 

He said this, then moved on with me awhile, 

Until at last we reach'd a dark defile, 

Through which a river dash'd ; but soon the dell 

Became a precipice, adown which fell 

The spray-sent stream, then thunder'd its farewell 

A thousand feet below. From where we stood 

We watch'd it wind and gleam amid a wood, 

Whose tree-tops far beneath us waved away. 

Well swept by winds that made them sigh and 

sway 
Across a sea-like space of hills and dales. 
The high heaved peaks and all the deep-rent vales 
Were bright with autumn's tints that end the year 
Like sunset ending day. " The glories here 
Bespeak translation and not death," said he. 
" These leaves are bright as flowers that lure the bee 
In orchards. When they fall, the limbs are clear 
For life's fresh fruitage of the coming year. 
So find I autumn's hues of gold and red 
Worn by each season, ere the leaves are shed, 
A mantle which the old year from the skies 



SEEKING. 



153 



Drops like Elijah's, and it prophesies 
New life beyond to which all nature hies." 

XVII. 

Amid the scenes below, I sought to find 

The grove where we had met. " How like in kind 

Seem all things there ! " exclaimed he. " 'T were 

the same 
If men we saw. Could one's peculiar claim 
Ascend as high up even as are we ? 
For aye, the nearer heaven our view-points be, 
The more of men's equality we see. 
Yet here we cannot pause. Yon peaks that rise 
From ridge to ridge like stairways through the skies. 
Invite us upward. Note that farthest range, 
Where shades, from clouds that seem too high for 

change. 
Move slowly on with such solemnity, 
Not like those near us, tripping merrily 
To music of the swaying pines, — that height 
Invites our presence, ere we part to-night. 
We must move on and up " — which saying, then 
He led me forward, it were hard to pen 
Through what long wastes of ledge and brake and 

fen. 

XVIII. 

But on a high, broad cliff his quick gait ceast ; 
And thence, the while he pointed toward the east. 



154 A LIFE IN SONG. 

My eyes could see — upon a greener field, 

Swept of the cumbering trees, and half conceal'd 

By clouds of smoke as white as was its own 

Pure marble hue — an altar ; nor alone. 

Soon, standing near it, where the air had clear'd 

A white-robed multitude of priests appear'd, 

And multitudes about them ranged in line, 

And multitudes of victims, fowl and kine. 

And, ever and anon, a listening ear 

Some vagrant fragments of men's praise could hear, 

Soft interrupted strains that stroked the air 

As though vibrations from the wings of prayer. 

Then, as I sought to learn the cause of all, 

The altar-smoke that, ere this, like a pall 

Had rested o'er it, rose afar and spread 

Like Paribanou's tent, o'er every head 

Unfolding far past all foretoken'd size. 

Yet still the fumes unfolded, till the skies 

Were black as when that drapery thick hung o'er 

The pyre of dead Pompeii, lit of yore 

By her fierce executioner, the grim 

Vesuvius. Like that did this mass dim 

All things except its own form hovering 

Above the earth, and swiftly covering 

The moon and struggling stars : but lo, ere long 

'T was limb'd anew, the while a wind-blast strong 

Rent from its ragged outlines threatening forms, 

Whirl'd like tornadoes, torn from clouds in storms. 



SEEKING. 155 

These then, that seem'd o'er half the earth to 

lower, 
Were seen to be the arms of some vast power 
That floated on the air : and soon behold 
Their fingers far seem'd stretching off to mould 
The yielding texture of the pliant space. 
"Now watch," my guide said; "while on high 

they place 
The stars call'd surges, and the earth, mirtlok, 
And patals of the lower realm, where flock 
The evil bands of Nardman. This is he, — 
Great Brahma, who above the Indian sea 
Once on the lotus lay, when truth began 
To gild the dreams of youth, and guide the man. 

XIX. 

"Ah, thought was crystallized when came the world! 
Be He the Nile-land Kneph, or He who hurl'd, 
In frozen climes, the heat from Muspellheim 
Within Ginnunga-gap, or One sublime, 
Whose glories bursting through earth's dawn, in days 
Of Grecian lore, awoke the Greek to praise, 
There lives a Power on whom all nations call, 
Before whom, in their hours of woe, they fall, — 
A Spirit's presence, back of hill and plain. 
That breathes and moves through all : and all in 

vain 
Men seek for rest who pay to Him no vow 



156 A LIFE IN SONG. 

To whom the conscience feels impell'd to bow 

And all its conscious energies devote. 

In search of Him, in ages most remote, 

The Hindoo, back of nature's robes could trace 

A life he dared not name. Was His veil'd face, 

One with Jehovah's of another race 

That named Him not ? whose aim was to redeem 

This world from wretchedness, and wake a dream 

Of night's ideals with day's real blessedness ? — 

And was He one with this Jehovah less 

Because like bands that bound three Persian 

powers. 
And onward sped the bright Egyptian hours. 
The Hindoo, after ages, learned to add 
A Siva to develop good from bad, 
And Vichnu, Saviour, to his ancient One, 
And form a Parabrahma, such as none 
Could comprehend, a Trinity indeed, 
Unlike, yet like that of the Christian's creed? 
Ah, who that thinks, can yet believe it true 
That earth has not a common Father ? — who 
Can deem that any soul is wholly driven 
From light that blesses all. Some ray has given 
Some glimpse to each one who has heavenward 

striven." 

XX. 

I look'd. The shape had vanish'd. In its place 
Was naught but smoke, left there like folds of lace 



SEEKING. 157 

About the skies, the while the stars, aglow, 
Appear'd like sparks to burst from clouds below, 
Exultant in their freedom. Then my guide 
Had found a path, rock-bound on either side ; 
And through the rocks, from many a misty home, 
Fleet torrents dash'd, and pass'd in spray and foam. 
More genial, in more quiet nooks beneath, 
Came cool, clear springs, amid green sod and 

heath. 
Reflecting back the light that fill'd the sky. 
Here, ere we far had walk'd, our feet drew nigh 
Rocks wide-illumin'd. They were flush'd with 

light 
That soon, I heard, stream'd out across the night 
" From lamps that hung within a sacred cave 
Carved round with signs that Zoroaster gave 
For symbols to reveal from heaven its plan 
To overthrow the power of Ahriman. 
Well was it too that this great seer could find 
A truth that, while enlightening every mind, 
Could also warm the numbness of the heart, 
And show wise Mithras, not with threaten 'd art, 
Forever striving to keep peace between 
The white-mail'd Ormuzd and his foe obscene. 
Dark Ahriman ; but conqueror where all merit 
Named sinless from Tschinevad, should inherit 
Unclouded realms of light, in which once more 
The good should reign supremely as of yore. 



1 58 A LIFE IN SONG, 

XXI. 
"But Zoroaster was not last, nor first, 
To learn of that by which the world is curst. 
What earthly soul must not such shafts endure 
As those of Typhon, Loki, Moisasure ? 
The well-made locks and legal barriers 
By which the best philanthropist avers 
Distrust in men ; the long sad list of crimes 
In lawyer's lore ; the armies of all times 
With men so elate to man them ; anarchy 
Whose brute force prostrates all prosperity 
Till shot and steel instate it ; toil that schemes 
For self or steals another's ; rest that dreams 
Of vice and wakes in vileness ; conscience, care, 
Disease, and death, — alike one record bear ; — 
All show the trace of evil gone before. 
Whose trail is clear to all, but clear yet more 
To those who strive most hard to walk aright, 
Yet walk misled where but the past sends light." 

XXII. 

We left the cave ; but, long its glancing beams 
Assail'd the trees, through boughs that draped the 

streams 
Like shot-rent banners, where bright shafts of day 
Clove through the yielding darkness of the way. 
And then the valley open'd ; and, once more. 
We saw the mountain-summits as before. 



SEEKING. 



159 



And soon, upon the highest peak of all, 

Some clouds appear'd. They seem'd, ere long, to 

crawl 
Along the hights, and lengthen out, and show 
Themselves the first of others gathering so. 
Which soon closed up behind them. Then we heard 
The moan of forests that above were stirr'd ; 
Then nearer trees began to quake and sway ; 
And with good cause ! for blackening all the way 
A storm was coming on, with an array 
As fierce as hosts of fiends might be, if sent 
From hell to charge some heavenly battlement. 
As fiercely, foully, did its forces try 
To break the lines of light in earth and sky, 
With sad success ! they carried each redoubt ; 
And, bounding down with thunder-tread and shout, 
On every side their weapons flash'd, and lash'd 
The howling waste through which their fury dash'd. 

XXIII. 

Here, driven aside for refuge from the storm, 
We came to men in divers dress and form, 
Who kneel'd upon the ground ; and at their side, 
I too had kneel'd, but seeing this, my guide 
Said, as he led me toward a shelter near, 
" These men are kneeling not in love but fear. 
Lest, while the storm sweeps downward in its 
might, 



l60 A LIFE IN SONG, 

An angry god be station'd on the hight. 

Nor strange it is that there their fancy rears 

Grim sceptr'd shadows of their human fears. 

Not strange the ancient Greek deem'd peaks of his 

The homes of Superhadean deities ; 

That Spartans dared not brave Olympian rocks ; 

Nor shepherds mount Amanus with their flocks ; 

That Persians bow'd to Borj, and grand Meru 

Subdued each haughty Brahmin Kooleenu. 

Not strange that priests in many a land have striven 

To prove their sacred creeds and codes were given 

On mounts high o'er the earth as heaven's high 

throne ; 
And shown Palladia, which their temples own, 
Oft carved with laws as changeless as their stone, — 
Shown, lightning-sent, the thunder's Brontia, 
Dread Dysares of hush'd Arabia, 
Heliagabolus, Teutonic rainbow-urns, 
The image for which robb'd Pessinus yearns, 
And countless other symbols, ail received. 
Like Israel's, from the sky, as was believed. 
But, think now, when the winds most fiercely blow, 
And thunders roar, which is the man's worst foe, — 
Self ? — or the lightning lighting up his woe ? 
Which one of old to conscience was it spoke, — 
Self ? — or the thunder that its fears awoke ? 
And when the sinner felt his death was due 
To One who own'd and claim'd his living too. 



SEEKING. l6l 

From what source in which love could not be 

shown 
Came forth the thought that weakness could atone 
For its own sin by using, not its own, 
But other lives ? — and how man's conscience prized 
The peace that came where these were sacrificed, 
What witness bear the altars, crimson-clad, 
From Baal's, to Julian's Tauroboliad ! " 

XXIV. 

" You yield," I interposed, ''much reverence 

To heathen worship." " Ay, for in a sense. 

All worship," said he, " springs from what is true. 

For if to sin it ever could be due, 

Could grafts of true religion flourish now 

Upon the old religious nature's bough ? 

But if, in spite of tendencies to sin. 

We still believe men's motives pure within, 

Then all that God has made appears to be — 

Be leaf, limb, flower, or fruit the part we see — 

Some perfect part still of life's perfect tree. 

Believe me, there is faith so full and deep 

That all the surface-doubts that o'er it sweep 

Are fog-banks to its ocean, — fill the skies 

Amid inactive hours, but shift and rise 

With each new change that brings a sun or storm. 

Our mortal doubts are conjured up by form, 

Not substance, when weak insight fails to reach 



1 62 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Beneath the vapory whiffs of human speech. 
They come to him whose wars are waged at words, 
A knight, who at some whirring windmill girds 
To wound the wind that whirls it, nor will know 
That, back of all this realm of sound and show, 
A subtle, unseen spirit works, which all 
Material means are far too weak and small 
To hold or image ; that the spirit's life 
Has power within it to survive all strife 
Of forms, at best, but fashion'd from the dust, 
Whose changing creeds are not men's constant 

trust. 
So better did our spirits not despise 
Their fellows. Under each most foul disguise 
That e'er deserved a prophet's curse or sighs. 
The truth may lurk, and not be wholly mute. 
But teach of love, sin's heaven-crown'd substitute, 
And faith, and hope, and life, by which men rise 
From step to step to all the soul can prize." 

XXV. 

While thus he spoke, the skies had clear'd once 

more, 
And through a mountain-clove, as through a door 
Hung green at Christmas time, far down below 
A fair vale open'd ; and we strove to go 
Where all could well be view'd ; then reach'd a place 
Cloud-high above a plain, where rose apace 



SEEKING. 163 

A flood, and swept around the hills like that 

Which once encircled lonely Ararat, 

When first that flood had ceased, long wonder'd at, 

The while men spoke by different names of one 

Seisithrus, Noah, or Deucalion, 

And signs in every land of ship and dove 

Recall'd the flood and all the Father's love. 

We stood there long, and watch'd the watery strife. 

Then, where more danger came to threaten life, 

He pointed out as Typhon and his wife 

Dark forms whose crafty steps in caution pass'd 

Amid high bushes bending in the blast. 

Anon, they push'd a chest out o'er the storm 

Which spell-bound held Osiris's fair form. 

The savior of the race they would destroy. 

Their deed perform'd, they turn'd with guilty joy 

And sped away ; but where the flood made green 

The shores it laved, great Thoth, with glances keen 

Had come to stay its rise. And scarce his face 

Had turn'd to note their deed, ere toward the place 

A third form moved. *T was veil'd in mystic light. 

But through the veil, anon, there met our sight 

Fair eyes that shone behind some surface tears 

Less dimm'd than starlight when the rain-cloud 

clears. 
In spite of grief dishevelling every tress. 
How beautiful was Isis in distress ! 
She sought her spouse Osiris, help'd in this 



1 64 A LIFE IN SONG. 

By faithful but abortive Anubis ; 

And soon, the while she learn'd the truth from 

Thoth, 
Prov'd how the gods can love whom they betroth. 
The surging storm within her flush 'd her face, 
Dash'd sparkling to her eyes, and sway'd with 

grace 
Her frame, which, at the pulses' overflow, 
Thrill'd visibly to feel the force below. 
She waved her hand toward heaven. The winds 

were hush'd, 
Light burst the sky ; and waves that wildly rush'd 
Against our mount, fell backward with the tide ; 
While far away, across the waters wide, 
Appear'd safe on the shore the missing chest 
Which those receding waves had left at rest. 

XXVI. 

" Her sacred lips have prophesied, anew," 
My guide said, as the vision sank from view, 
" The time for Horus to avenge and save 
The wrong'd Osiris, rising from his grave 
To call upon his followers on the earth 
To take his name, and share in his new birth. 
How oft of old such prophesies have cheer'd 
The hearts of men, as in their sky appear'd 
Some rainbow to remind them of that love 
Which girdled Noah's world, and still above 



SEEKING. 165 

And round about them, saves from sadder waves 

Than ever closed above mere earthly graves ! 

How oft in ages past have men been told 

Of one triumphant in the days of old, — 

Some Buddha, Caesar, Arthur, who should spring 

From death to be once more earth's more than 

king,— 
The dream of art that struggles to reveal 
Its form in marble pure as its ideal. 
The dream of faith that looks in him to find 
The way, the truth, the life of all mankind. 

XXVII. 

" If this, indeed, of other men were true, 

What profit then," I asked him, " had the Jew.^" — 

" Much everyway, but chiefly," answer'd he, 

" He had the oracles, believed to be, 

Amid the ignorance of surrounding night. 

An earnest ever of a coming light. 

God chose this race, you say, but did His charge 

Of it make Him neglect the world at large ? 

Might not the Spirit speak through laws made 

known 
Within each heart ? Were these reveal'd alone 
Within the written word ? Might not His will, 
Intent on purposes He would fulfil 
Through human means, at first selections make, 
And guard the truth, — not wholly for the sake 



1 66 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Of Israel ; nor for an exclusive cause, — 
By one peculiar people's life and laws ? 
And where in all of history, tho' one traces 
Amid all kinds of castes and clans and races, 
Is ever found a stabler element ? — 
Of all the men against mutation bent, 
In spite of court or church or sword or flame, 
But one, the Jew, forever stays the same. 

XXVIII. 

" Yet even he could live, as years passed on, 

His destiny forgetting, and, anon. 

Like Esau, sell for gains of little worth 

The mission that was his by right of birth, — 

To minister to all men ; and could call 

His nation's Lord the guardian, not of all. 

But of the Jew, — tho' later prophecies 

Had always join'd the Gentile's name to his. 

And thus he turn'd from Him whose power above 

Had ne'er reveal'd partiality of love. 

Nor truth that was not some development 

Of promises to all earth's children sent 

When earth's first parents look'd for one whose 

worth 
Should crush the sin-born serpent of the earth : — 
He turn'd from Him, whose ministers, I ween, 
Urge none in heathen lands to choose between 
The good and ill, without attesting so 



SEEKING. 167 

That God's good Spirit strives with all below. 
If Jews, who read His law and sacrificed, 
Were saved by faith in Him ; the uncircumcised 
With faith in Him would scarce unheeded go, 
Because they but the higher law could know. 

XXIX. 

" Why, think you, that, of old, divine command 

Sent only Jonah to a heathen land ? 

Why, that God's prophets could high praise allot 

To some who yet of Israel's God knew not ? 

Was Paul a sophist at Mar's Hill to own 

That Greece could worship Him, altho* unknown ? 

Or did the Christ say, but to play with truth 

And please that vain Samaria, forsooth, 

That not within Jerusalem alone 

Was truth confined, for every land could own 

The spirit's truthful worship ? Might not He 

Whose good accepts the good where'er it be. 

And reads the inmost motives of the mind, 

In 'every nation, people, kindred,' find, 

Thron'd e'en behind the idols of each race. 

Ideals that human art could not make base ? 

How sad if not ! This world's theology 

Scarce blows a trumpet causing piety 

To kneel, ere out from opening mystery 

Sweeps forth, full mail'd, the world's idolatry. 

It is not he of heathen name alone 



l68 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Who bows his knee to gilt and wood and stone. 
Where live the souls who seek God's living truth 
Whom priest-craft does not find, and praise, for- 
sooth, 
Its own deeds, which it claims must lead the way 
And meditate for all men while they pray ? 
Alas for man, thus made to look to man ! — 
Just charity with kindlier eye might scan, 
Amid Athenian gods, a Socrates, 
Who would not bow in spirit e'en to these." 

XXX. 

While thus he spoke, I, dead to sight and sound, 
Had walk'd abstracted, till I mark'd around 
Strange shadows quivering over all the ground, 
The which, anon, far darker would be made. 
They startled me ; for what had caused the shade ? 
No tree nor cliff about us rose between 
The moon-light and ourselves to form a screen. 
But when I glanc'd above, there met my sight 
As high as clouds could be, as wild a light 
As ever man could see, — light coming not 
From moon or stars ; one could not judge from what. 
As lightning were, if constant, so it glared 
Athwart the sky, and tore and cross'd and flared. 

XXXI. 

That strange scene lasted long ; but yet the moo.t: 
In time came forth again. Then climbing soon 



SEEKING. 169 

Some mighty ledges, we at last surveyed 

From distant heights the forms that caused the 

shade : 
We saw the giant ash Yggdrasil now 
That loom'd with many a thick and swaying bough 
Above the plain through which our feet had pass'd. 
But think not leaves that had the shadows cast 
Had bridg'd but our short pathway, and no more. 
The limbs were leagues in length, and rose to soar 
Above the earth like mountain-forests wide. 
Yet cloud-borne, needing not a mountain-side. 
They cover'd all the north, yet hung as high 
Above the darkness of the western sky ; 
And far off through the east they stretch'd away 
Till flushing at the touch of coming day. 
Ah, where was ever aught like this tree seen ! 
Beside it, a mere wind-bent twig, I ween 
Was that Aswatha by the Hindoo known. 
Or Persia's Gogard, or the Zampuh grown 
In Thibet — figured o'er with mystic signs 
Which made but little wise their wise divines— 
Or Eden's too, reputed to have grown 
The seeds of these through every nation sown. 

XXXII. 

Of them my guide discours'd, the while we scann'd 
Yggdrasil's roots ; one in the west where band 
The fiends of darkness in their foul Mistland : 



170 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And there the serpent lies like lengthen'd night, 

And gnaws the bark, nor sates his appetite ; 

And one was in the north where Frost-Kings 

dwell, 
And drafts of wisdom drink from Mimir's well. 
While ever in its crystal depths below 
The cool brain sees the mirror'd pole-star glow ; 
And one was in the east, hard by the morn 
And Urdar-fountain, where the patient Norn 
Perceives the present, future, and the past, 
Nor slights the small, nor shudders at the vast. 
Thence, heaved from earth to heaven, bridged o'er 

the dark, 
The rainbow-bifrost bends, on which we mark 
Its warden, Heimdall, who his vigil keeps 
With marvellous ears, which, even while he sleeps 
With birdlike lightness, hear the grasses grow 
And wool on sheep ten thousand miles below ! 
Beyond his place uploom high Asgard-homes 
Of gods, and Gladsheim with its golden domes. 
There too, along Idavollr's wondrous fields, 
Vingolf appears, which hush'd retirement yields 
For Frigga and her suite, — a wilderness 
Of lawns and lanes and arbors numberless, 
Dim nights of groves and glowing days of flowers, 
And lakes and streams and fairy fountain showers, — 
A place where wish could every want confess, 
And all desire be drugged in drowsiness. 



SEEKING. 171 

XXXIII. 

But while I gazed upon that scene, behold, 

A storm arose. Its thunders, while they roU'd, 

Woke Heimdall, who, anon, on Gulltopp rode 

Like lightning to Valhalla, the abode 

Of mighty Odin. Then each hill and plain 

Seem'd filled with gods, who moved with signs of 

pain. 
Here Tyr uplifts, like some vast mountain-side, 
His heaven-high shield that shakes with wounded 

pride. 
There Ullur aims his bow to test his art, 
And meteors through remotest regions dart. 
Now Braji leaves his wife, Iduna fair. 
For Forseti ; and toward them in despair 
Comes Freyja with her plaintful team of gray, 
And Vidar, Vali, Njord, all join the fray, 
While through the north, like an Aurora, gleam 
The spears of Skadi's troops that nearer stream. 
Far up in Hlidskjalf, towering o'er the crowds, 
Like some fair morning sunburst o'er the clouds, 
Bright Odin stands, and prompt at his command 
Convulsions dash the sea and shake the land, 
Where comes great Thor, whose chariot sweeps the 

sky, 
On wheels of fire far flashing as they fly. 
Eclipsing all those rival hosts of light 
As thunder-storms blot out the stars of night. 



1/2 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXXIV. 

But what had roused the gods ? — I gazed below, 

And there beheld a mighty waste of woe. — 

The serpent, Nidhugg, with new malice lash'd 

The sea surrounding all things, till it dash'd 

O'er all the shores. The great tree's giant form, 

Amid the waves and winds of that wild storm, 

Sway'd to and fro, till with a mighty crash 

Its trunk was rent, the while a blinding flash 

Of lightning tore apart the upper sky. 

And fired the great tree's limbs that hung on high, 

As if an orb of flame, or comet whirl'd 

Against what might become a bursting world, 

Tho' yet the crash came not. Its flashing drew 

Fire-genii from the depths who fiercely flew 

To tear the bifrost down. More dread than these, 

Huge giants weeding up the shaken trees, 

And rending from the earth the crumbling cliffs. 

Press toward the gods, who through the smoke that 

lifts. 
Advance their blazing lines ! Of no avail 
Is now their show of strength ! For once they fail ; 
For once can force more dread than gods' assault ; 
And, almost ere they charge, the columns halt ; 
Then back through many a lengthening league they 

roll; 
Then, wheeling, bend their rivals like a scroll. 
Borne back again, for one more charge they form, 



SEEKING. 173 

As terrible as every earthly storm 
Concenter'd into one. On, on they bound, 
And meet — O soul, to have outlived that sound ! — 
Nor heaven nor hell could stand so fierce a shock ; 
But all things, — god and giant, star and rock, 
And sky and earth, with bursting fires were hurl'd 
Like lava through the air ! then all the world 
Seem'd smoke, so dense I felt it on me press. 
Then still was all, and all was nothingness. 

XXXV. 

How long this gloom had place, no man could 

tell. 
Bewilder'd by the scene and shock I fell. 
And swoon'd away. When came again the light. 
My guide was by me, and he calm'd my fright. 
" Note now," he said, " the end, and lay to heart 
How like seeks like, and good and evil part." 

xxxvi. 

He bade me mark then a commotion slight 

Amid the clouds about us which the light 

Would here and there flash through. And, gazing 

long, 
I saw two currents flowing deep and strong. 
The one pass'd up, and drew from every side 
All bright things after it ; the other hied 
With all the darker forms toward depths below, — 



174 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Forms it would tear from all the air, as though 
Some chemic force would thus precipitate 
Each essence to a predetermined fate. 
And soon I seem'd, — I wist not how — to heed 
With every mote that rose or fell some deed, 
And, clinging to each deed, a shadowy frame ; 
Then, as if causing each, real spirits came, 
Form'd like the shadows, in all parts the same. 
Some sank below ; and some, with looks of love, 
Would follow all frames like their own above. 

XXXVII. 

To what place moved they ? As their forms pass'd by 

I gazed above, and through the open sky. 

Amid encircling glory, could descry 

A city rear'd for those whose deeds were right, 

Beyond all beauty beautiful. The sight 

No man could see, and deem one other bright. 

All earth's light, pass'd through one lens, could but 

blot 
The brilliance of those pinnacles ; and not 
In all things else that e'er my soul could awe 
Was aught suggested like what then I saw. 

XXXVIII. 

How could I turn now from a scene like this 
And gaze below, and thus forget my bliss ? — 
Yet soon my eyes were lured to seek the place 



I 



SEEKING. 175 

Where souls descending went. This made me face 

Not what I so had fear'd. I could but see 

A far off brightness, which appear'd to me 

To rift the shadows of surrounding night, 

And fill at once both heaven and earth with light. 

Then, too, I noticed that, though all the world 

To swift entire destruction had seem'd hurl'd. 

That sad scene passing by, had left me still 

Unharm'd, and standing yet upon the hill. 

" Whence comes that light ? " I ask'd then of my 

guide. 
" Go we to seek the source .? " " Nay," he replied, 
As it illumin'd all his face, and drew 
Rays from his eyes like those in morning dew : 
" Like lesser lights this light of life is nigh 
To see by, not to handle, lest we die. 
And while it makes the paths before us bright 
'T is our work to advance from sight to sight." 

XXXIX. 

Then, moving forward soon, we reached a ledge 

And pass'd around it, and the sharp steep edge 

Grew skyward back of us, until its hight 

Had hid what now my guide declared " the light 

By means of which, e'en through the night's dim air, 

We had divined those visions everywhere. 

But now," he said, " this mountain back of us , 

Towers up above a vale not lighted thus." 



176 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XL. 
With this, he led me onward, where the gloom 
Hung thick o'er all things like a veil of doom. 
But through this veil we had anon discern'd 
Bare fields but seldom by the plowshare turn'd ; 
Where, closely guarded, every human hut 
Against wild beasts or wilder men seem'd shut. 
The men, ill-shaped, bore features none could 

trust ; 
And lived for plunder, and to pander lust ; 
Nor fear'd for aught save chieftains, who would rise 
And lead them forth to battle where their cries 
Would fill the air, the while, with brawn that bled. 
They fell'd their foes, who yielded, sometimes dead. 
Or, worse than dead, were into bondage led. 
And loaded with huge weights, and scourg'd and 

spurn'd, 
And ever kept in fear, until they turn'd 
And took revenge, and thus brought on, once more, 
A fiercer fight. I yearn'd then to implore 
My guide to take me thence ; but, ere I spoke, 
Off through the clouds that fell apart, there broke 
A light like dawn's that made the gloom there cease, 
And burst like sunlight o'er a land of peace. 
Its fields were till'd, its home-doors open wide, 
And, as the day broke o'er it like a tide, 
Face after face awoke to smiles that blush'd. 
Far lovelier than the clouds the sunrise fl'ush'd. 



SEEKING. lyy 

XLI. 

"This light so blessed," said my guide, "to see, 
Shines o'er a land where truth has made men free. 
For all men, to their own best natures true, 
Learn soon to let truth rule their fellows too. 
So here the chains that on the bondmen clank 
Are loosed, and slaves may reach the noblest rank ; 
And every field grows richer for the toil 
Of yeomen working well their own-held soil. 
Their very king, at last, has come to plan 
The common welfare like a common man. 
See too where ships for savage isles are steer'd. 
How soon the church and school-house have been 

rear'd ! 
E'en trade is made by winds from heaven above 
To join men in the bonds of trust and love. 
But think you gains that thus bring all men good 
Are prized by all ? " — And then from where we stood 
He bade me closely watch the throngs I saw. 
" Not all have spirits to discern God's law 
Fulfill'd in what inspires to lives of truth 
The soul God rules," he said. " This age, forsooth. 
Is like the Christ's. Untaught that powers divine 
Work most within, it seeks a form, a sign." 

XLII. 

With this he pointed to a path in view 

Where many flock'd, and still the number grew. 



1 78 A LIFE IN SONG. 

A loud disputing throng they were, where each 
Seem'd bent to draw from all within his reach 
A train of followers, trying as he talk'd 
To make men leave the friends with whom they 

walk'd 
And join with his. The crowd thus moved along, 
Was borne at last, where all the streaming throng 
Spread, sea-like, surging here toward towering walls 
Of vast cathedrals, there toward smallest halls. 
And proved in various ways their piety, — 
Bow'd, kneel'd or pass'd each doorway silently, 
Some clasping there the hands of friends, and some 
Their own hands, as if waiting love to come. 

XLIII. 

While still we watch'd them, one who came to us 
Cried out in rage : ''This age, so impious. 
Dethrones the Lord, and boasts it can be free. 
As if the truth He sends from heaven could be 
Reveal'd by man, it rends, in doubtful search. 
The forms that once made one the one true church, — 
A church the home of all that hope has taught. 
Or faith has felt, or love and grace have wrought, 
On earthly floods the ark that saves the soul. 
How blest its halls, and its divine control. 
Where youths' unfolding natures learn to pray. 
And move through life in heaven's appointed way ! 
How blest its reverent rites, — the quiet throng, 



SEEKING. 179 

The pealing organ and the mutual song ! 
And, after praises, prayers and wise advice, 
The still walk home, and earthly paradise ! 
Accursed surely is their heresy, 
Who would make less its high authority. 
Accursed would the world be, did their strife 
Throne lawlessness above mere lawless life." 

XLIV. 

" And are you sure that what you prize rules less 
Because of that which gives your soul distress ?'* 
My guide replied then. — " There are those who 

claim 
This very freedom best fulfils His aim 
Who heads the church. He sought to move man- 
kind 
Through moving unseen springs of love behind 
Man's thought and deed. His church, assuredly, 
Were but like Him if seeking unity 
Not in the mask that hides whatever strife 
Disturbs the soul, but in the inward life . — 
You fear that skies aglow with liberty 
Attend some sun that sets in anarchy. 
Alas, too often men mistake the light 
Of coming day for that of coming night. 
But trust me, friend, wherever lifting skies 
Impel deep slumbering souls to wake and rise 



l8o A LIFE IN SONG. 

And press toward nobler things that then they view, 
The church or nation that there lets them do 
Their best to make their best ideals true, 
Brings forth more worth from every character 
Than all the rites and codes that ever were. 
God's laws are inward, and they most control 
Those left most free to serve what moves the soul ; 
But what earth's rulers force men to fulfil 
Oft flows from but one headstrong human will." 

XLV. 

" Alas," rejoin'd the first, " for truth you search, 

Yet find no good, nor profit in the church." 

" Ay," said the other, " much good, every way ; 

As was the synagogue, our church to-day 

Is bless'd by truth well proved ; but can you deem 

That all the springs that flow to swell the stream 

Of ever-living truth are far away 

As where fair Eden's first clear water lay ? 

Are there no nearer mountain-sides and plains, 

O'erflowing with their stores from present rains ? 

Is there no rock struck now by prophet's hands 

To meet in barren fields the new demands 

Of thirsting souls, who find the stream of thought 

Polluted by the debris caught and brought 

From long past ages ? Think you, friend, that 

naught 
Has dimm'd with new alloy the modern phrase. 



SEEKING. l8l 

And that it still makes clear thought's ancient phase? 

Nay, may not one's own thinking, too, debase 

The soul's pure springs of God's inspiring grace ? 

If so, can one be wise, and take no thought 

Of what another spirit has been taught ? 

Believe me, whatsoe'er has pass'd away, 

Of temple-service or of priestly sway, 

'T is well the church, our synagogue, remains 

Wherein each soul from other souls obtains 

Interpretations, varied with each mood. 

Of truth that else might not be understood. 

No single man could know, so Israel thought. 

The whole mind of the Spirit. Hence each sought 

To supplement his truth by charity 

Which heeds what all report. How righteously 

Could we in all that all men know rejoice ! 

They serve the church who serve the Spirit's voice." 

XLVI. 

To this the stranger answer'd with the plea, 
" So many claim it, where can this voice be ? " 
" A nation may be form'd," my guide replied, 
" Of those whom race and circumstance divide. 
And yet be one, if one power hold control. 
Enforcing general laws that rule the whole. 
You deem the church divided ? Who are you. 
So sure how God may best preserve in view 
The truth that love must rule in all things true ? 



1 82 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Our faith in forms may trust a God-void shrine, 
Where nothing that is worshipped is divine ; 
May look to human systems, made to fit 
Not all the truth, but only part of it, 
To finite frames wherein the infinite lies 
Defined so well that, in the compromise 
Betwixt the faith and form, whate'er we view. 
Contracted, clipp'd, and only half way true. 
Is wholly harm'd. Ah, when shall mortals learn 
That truth is grander than the earthly urn 
To which they would confine it, or conceive 
That wisest laws in states or churches leave 
Each man to govern rightly his own soul 
And thus, through practice, nurture self-control ? 
When shall men strive to find a wiser way 
Of warfare, than, with hostile ranks at bay, 
To turn from these, and with the corps contend 
That on their own side their own cause defend ? 
What if corps-colors differ ? Loyal hearts 
May cherish and advance through better arts 
Their church, — the cause of truth ; for naught, 

forsooth, 
Thrives less where force restrains it than the truth. 

XLVII. 

" And truth the sovereign is, net speech, nor sect. 
Who love God's truth love God. So I detect 
That naught can train more truthful piety 



A 



SEEKING. 183 

Than earnest thought, awaiting patiently 

In heaven's own light each heavenly mystery. 

But priestcraft oft has tender'd to the soul 

What so apportions out divine control 

That he who would receive it, must profess 

To know all truth that heaven or earth can bless. 

And yet can aught that men serve reverently 

Be void of deep dark voids of mystery ? 

Can aught that leads our souls toward life above 

Train human worth by knowledge more than love ? 

If but to know, gave souls their victory, 

Where were the need of faith, hope, charity ? 

What but the last of these can lead aright 

The spirits that not yet can walk by sight ? 

What wisest words that angel lips could speak, 

If void of this, were ever else than weak? " 

XLVIII. 

As thus he spoke my eyes once more were brought 
To watch the place those worshippers had sought 
And soon, where stood some vast cathedral tower, 
Or church hid like a cottage in a bower 
Beneath wide-branching trees, anon, would pour 
Out from a deep-sunk porch, or opening door 
An overflow of crowds that coursed inside. 
Some swept forth thus, like foam upon a tide. 
Were borne to other doors ; but many pass'd 
Out wholly from the place. Of these, at last. 



1 84 A LIFE IN SONG. 

A few, far drifting near to where we stood, 
Proclaim'd aloud the reason and the mood 
That moved them thus. " None know the truth," 

they cried, 
In tones that all replies to them defied. 

XLIX. 

"We here," one spokesman said, "like most I ween, 
Were drawn away from saints of humble mien 
To those that seem'd most zealous to be seen ; — 
To noisy throngs, who pray'd for peaceful boons 
As if heaven's pity craved their shrieks and 

swoons ; 
Or else, to preachers who, while crowds admired, 
Preach'd what to be admired thus, had inspired." 
*'We heard intoned," another said, '* a sound 
Which print, pass'd Providentially around, 
Reveal'd to be a weary train of praise. 
Now priests, now choirs would chant ; but few 

would raise 
A tribute that could voice all men's desire. 
Soft throats alone seem'd thankful for much hire ; 
Or else, as if the words were moved by fear, 
Were wailing wildly, in a place made drear 
By smoke and candles and a soulless dearth 
Of light, as if stain'd windows by their worth 
Could make heaven seem more dear than such an 

earth." 



SEEKING. 185 

" And some, we saw," one cried, " whose foremost 

care 
Appear'd the head, — should it be shorn of hair ? 
Or never shorn ? — or should the head be bare ? 
Or crown'd with hats whose brims were broad or 

spare ? 
Then all of these were one with those, we found, 
Concern'd to know how saints could best be 

gown'd, — 
In vestments rich or rude, as white or bright 
As daybreak or as dark or dull as night ? 
As if, forsooth, a mere material guise 
Could ever veil the spirit from the eyes 
Of Him men worship, or, by outward show, 
Atone for wrong still strong in souls below. 
Can it be true that sin can disappear 
From lives made right but to the eye and ear ? 
What can their spirits be but dead, indeed. 
Who neither feel their faith nor think their creed ?" 

L. 

Thus with a captious, grave, or angry air 
These all had turn'd and left that place of prayer. 
Where differing creeds and rites men war'd about 
Had roused within them but distaste or doubt. 
How could there be so much despondency 
Where once hope sought for faith so eagerly ? 
Yet some seem'd wholly driven to despair ; 
And fled afar ; and, flying, hasted where 



1 86 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Their pathways ended o'er a deep abyss ; 
And, ere they mark'd its unseen precipice, 
Too late to save them from the fate they fear'd, 
Their shrieks rang out, and then they disappear'd. 

LI. 

" Ah," sighed my guide, *' whose wisdom does not 

know 
That earth, not heaven, has made religion so ? 
With life a mystery of mysteries. 
What comfort has the soul that thoughtful is, 
Except as it may trust that inmost law 
From which all forms their vital forces draw ? 
How many forms may that law yet make one ! 
When days are newly lighted by the sun, 
The clouds it kindles in the eastern sky 
Are but the swamp's foul vapors lifted high, 
And all the brilliance of the lightning's fire 
Is forged from vapors oozing o'er the mire. 
So, when life's last grand sunrise gilds our night, 
And heaven's wide opening gates flash forth their 

light, 
Who knows what forms on earth may be the first 
To catch the glories that shall o'er us burst ? 
With all our boasts, life is not perfect yet ; 
Nor are all forms within which truth is met 
Transparent to reveal its hidden worth ; 
Nor large enough to hold it, when from earth 



SEEKING. 187 

It springs toward heaven. The safeguards fram'd 

around 
The sprout when first it starts to leave the ground, 
Now that it presses upward and about 
And from its narrow frame is bursting out, — 
Can these that held the twig in, hold the tree ? 
Or think you life a force that can endure. 
And never change, nor ever grow mature ? 

LII. 

" At least, doubt not that many an earnest mind, 
May find pure truth, in spite of frames that bind 
His thought to forms. A publican may use 
Vain rites that oft the truth of heaven abuse, 
Yet breathe through each dead body of a prayer 
Sighs that infuse a living spirit there ; 
And he whose faith in freest ways may roam 
Have constant yearnings for some churchly hom^^. 
Ah, they who trust in God's most sovereign might. 
Find much to do, if they would do the right; 
And they who trust the power of human will, 
Oft fail, and feel their need of mercy still. 

LIII. 

" Truth's warriors in a mighty host advance. 
Whose lines with wings of infinite expanse 
Now rout, and now seem routed by the foe. 
Smoke-wrapt amid the fight, no man can know 



1 88 A LIFE IN SONG. 

If most he should exult in drums that beat 

For forward movements, or for full retreat. 

The line near by him may but backward roll 

To shape the slow sure progress of the whole. 

If so, surmising where he can not prove 

How all things toward life's final victory move, 

His faith need not lose all its confidence, 

Tho' it surrender every old defence. 

Heaven's truth were small, if naught it brings could 

be 
Outside the mental range of such as we. 

LIV. 

"And what are theories worth, except so far 
As each can make men better than they are ? 
When souls have grown to truth, their nurture needs, 
Ere growth can pass beyond it, growing creeds. 
But e'en with these, what words that influence 

choice 
Can sound all accents of the ' still small voice ' .? 
Can human phases fully satisfy 
Divine requirements ? Let men only sigh 
For God as Father in the home above, 
Or as the earthly Son whose life was love, 
Or as the Spirit sent to woo the soul ; 
Still may the truth, though not all known, control, 
Howe'er their lips may limit and confine it, 
Their whole lives, while they struggle to divine it. 



SEEKING. 189 

Let thought-built systems fail each modern test ; 
On truth beneath ail systems faith may rest, 
On truth unshaken by earth's changing facts, 
Inspiring pure desires and generous acts, 
Where spirit reigns alone, and through all creeds 
Impels all good men toward the self-same deeds, 
Who learn that though their words be contrary, 
All worthy souls have inward sympathy. 

LV. 

" And yet, will all men's thinking never find 

That which can satisfy the questioning mind ? — 

Will never a Magellan sail around 

This grander globe of truth, till he have found 

How paths that part most widely sometimes tend 

To bring two souls together in the end ? 

Our human thought, whose efforts, aim'd afar. 

Have learn'd so much of sun and moon and star, — 

'T is time it tell us mortals what we are. 

'T is time our wandering world's philosophy 

Discern life's inward bond of unity, — 

Not like the Greek in mere material fire. 

But in the soul's unquenchable desire. 

*T is time it weigh the worth of arguments, 

That treat each consciousness with reverence ; 

And, starting with the soul's first certainty, 

Evolve in all its order'd symmetry 

The universal law of sympathy. 



IQO A LIFE IN- SONG. 

'T is time the Spirit of the living force, 

Whose currents through the frame of nature course, 

And make the earth about, and stars above, 

The body and abode of infinite Love, 

That breathes its own breath through our waiting 

frames 
With each fresh breeze that blows, and ever aims 
Our lesser lives where all we call advance 
But plays within its lap of circumstance, — 
*T is time the Spirit should be known, in truth, 
Inspiring hope in age and faith in youth, 
And in us all that charity benign, 
Which in us all would make us all divine." 

LVI. 

He paused, then said, " Each reverential star 
Draws back where comes the sun. My home is far. 
Now that our feet approach once more the dell 
Where first we met, I must away, farewell." 
And scarce I heard this, ere he had withdrawn. 
But I, who walk'd and watch'd the opening dawn, 
Moved homeward like one waking from a dream ; 
And, as my mind recall'd my joy supreme 
To see those visions that had fill'd the sky, 
I had resolved, long ere the sun was high, 
That whatsoever truth had thus been shown 
Should not be left to bless myself alone. 



I 




OTE FIFTH. 



Again the people met, and now 
to hear 

The soldier's tones, full, rich, 
and flexible, 
Sound all the changes of their varied notes. 
The while he fondly read the poet's lines 
Inspired to mount the heights, and delve the depths, 
And compass all the length and breadth of love. 
" Well nigh to middle life our friend had come." 
The soldier said, *' ere he would heed at all 
The calls appealing only to his heart. 
For years, hard battling to maintain the fight 
For food and clothing, then for years intent 
To share his week-day gains, as well as all 
His Lord's-day rest, with others who appear'd 
In soul and body poorer than himself. 
He had no time to wed, nor think of it. 
Whate'er his mood, but seldom was he seen 
To turn and watch God's beauty in a facCj 
Or blush anon with inward kindled fires 



191 



192 A LIFE IN SONG. 

To feel the flatteries breath'd from women's lips. 

But, just ere middle life, there cross'd his way 

A sweet epitome of womanhood 

With gentle hazel eyes, brown wavy hair, 

And full red lips, through which fiow'd soft and low 

Words richly color'd by the warmth within. 

As was the face that flush'd in uttering them. 

And underneath that open face there seem'd 

A nature moved by all that moved his own, — 

His thoughts, his hopes, his projects for mankind. 

What could he do but love it ? Still for months 

Love's course through dubious channels fiow'd 

along, 
With currents changed, anon, from slow to swift, 
And yet with slight advance, till suddenly 
There came the calmness of the open sea. 
Where all the restless rills found peace at last, • 
As pure as heaven's own light that in them slept. 
How sweet the echoes of the changing stream 
Ring through the rhymes before me ! But enough. 
Their harmonies will charm you for themselves." 




OVING. 




Under the light of a summer 
sky, 

Swept of clouds as the sun was 
high, 

Came a presence, ere long, to be 
More than all things else to me ; 
More than all, for its light and shade 
Changed the world with the life they made ; 
Changed the field I had till'd with care 
Into a garden sweet and fair. 
Never so sweet were the warm bright hours, 
Never so fair were the bursting flowers. 



Under the spell of that new delight. 
What could I do but pause at the sight, 
Pause to wonder, and cull and save 
Some of the sweets that life then gave ? 
Here they are : they may hint to few 
Aught of the glory in which they grew : 
Only the stalks of an old bouquet. 
Colorless, faded, gone to decay, — 
193 



194 ^ LIP^ ^^ SONG. 

Still they are dear for the joys they bore 
While they were blooming in days of yore. 

II. 

Over the hills the breeze of May 

Came, its fragrance bringing. 
Over the meadows all the day, 

Birds in the boughs were singing. 

Out of my door the breeze's floods, 
Glowing with sunshine, bore me, 

Out where the branches were bowing, and buds 
Parted like lips before me. 

Out of my breast for a world so fair, 

Blithe as the May-life springing. 
Out of my breast and into the air 

All my soul seem'd winging. 

Winging like spirits that through the breeze 
Flew to the earth that drew them. 

Touching the trembling leaves like keys. 
Playing a music through them. 

Then, as if meant to meet my moods, 

Came a maiden, wending 
Down through a path that clove the woods, 

Into the town descending. 

To and fro the folds of her gown. 
With fair little feet below them, 



LOVING. 195 

To and fro and up and down 
Daintily swung to show them. 

Heap'd in her hat were blossoms rare, 
Shedding their fragrance round her, 

While, like a halo of gold in her hair, 
Only the sunshine crown'd her. 

Then, as nearer she drew, her face 

Clear'd from a shade of tresses, 
Fair as a dawn that breaks apace 

Out of a cloud's recesses. 

Shone a light in her dark, deep eye 

Pure as a star, when shining 
Far in a sky whose depths defy 

All but a god's divining. 

So she pass'd, and her flower-leaves flew, 
None could have told one whether 

Drawn by her, or by drafts that drew 
Both through the world together. 

All of nature with rhythmic beat 

Seem'd at one with her swaying, 
Keeping time to her fair young feet, 

The beat of her heart obeying. 

Ah, thought I, since the world was new, 
All its whirling and humming. 



196 A LIFE IN SONG. 

All its working, and waiting too, 
Meant that she was coming. 

III. 

O could these hands of mine 

But clasp a form so sweet ; 
O could I know the joys divine 

Of a love for once complete ! 
She is the fairest flower of all 

Earth can ever discover 
She is the fruit of the world to fall 

Into the hands that love her, 

IV. 

What is the use of our living. 

If living be but to exist, 
And nothing to others be giving, 

Which, were we away, would be miss'd ? 

What is the use of our learning. 
And toiling to come to the right. 

If none can know we are yearning 
To lead their spirits to light ? 

What is the use of possessing 

A charm of form or of face, 
If these be never expressing 

A love that others can trace ? 



LO VJNG. 197 

What is an outward attraction, 

What is a power to control, 
If men through the guise of our action 

See nothing of God in the soul ? 

V. 

Outward gains bring only a show 

Gleaming in bubbles a breath can blow. 

All the glitter that ever they make, 

Flashing or dashing away as they break, 

All is as nothing, unless men find, 

Within and without them and broader in kind, 

The light enlightening soul and mind. 

Love alone is the sun-bright air. 

Filling the bubbles, and making them fair, 

And shining on, when they all have burst, 

As brightly as when it lighted them first. 

VI. 

How oft in the night, 'mid the wind's wild sweep 
Through the leaf-hung trees, or the spray-flung deep, 
My eye sees not, but a light will gleam 
Like an angel-face in an angel-dream ; 
And back through the years 
My hush'd soul hears 
The call of a tone 
Like the spirit's own ; 
And I feel the press 



198 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Of a lost caress, 

And of lips that bear 
Both a kiss and a prayer 
For my cheeks that glow as my pulses thrill. 
Ah, is it a wonder my eye should fill ? 
I feel, whatever my life may be, 
That one in the past had love for me ; 
When, dear as a boon from a realm of the blest, 

My soul was press'd 

To my mother's breast. 



VII. 



How oft with an old but strange delight, 

I awake and turn when the day grows bright ; 

But O, no arm o'er my neck is thrown, 

No soft, warm breath is fanning my own. 

I feel but a draft of the passing air 

That drifts through the window to lift my hair. 

I hear but the breeze 
That is whispering where 

It plays with the trees. 
The mate of my boyhood in days long past 
I loved with a love that could not last. 

He has left me for life ; 
And far away with children and wife, 
He shows not, knows not, would not crave 
The old, old love that sleeps in its grave. 



LOVING. 199 

VIII. 

How oft, when many a soul I meet 

For labor or for pleasure, 
With a strange delight my heart will beat 

A soft but stirring measure. 

A sacred charm surrounds the bloom 
Of cheeks that glow before me, 

Far sweeter than the flower's perfume 
In springtime ever bore me. 

The smiles their lips leave unconfined, 
Their movements as I view them, 

Appear but shades of a life behind, 
And I can half see through them. 

Ay, oft I hide my eyes apace 

Beneath my eyelids' awning ; 
Too bright behind each flushing face 

A holy light seems dawning. 

Each eye I see appears a lens, 

Through which, with stolen glances, 

A realm divine my spirit kens, 
Which all my hope entrances. 

Who cares to doubt the tale, when told 

That seers with second seeing 
Behind the forms that all behold 

Discern a spirit's being ? 



200 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Past curtains keeping souls from sight, 

Who never found a friend there, 
Transfigured by a purer light 

Than earthly suns could send there ? 

Who never felt an impulse true, 

A better self within him, 
A spirit yearning to break through 

This life from which 't would win him. 

Look through his frame and through each frame 

Of those about who love him, 
Till soul met soul with joy the same 

As fills the heaven above him. 



IX. 



If in the spheres of life on high, 

The fadeless growth of each bright year 
Unfold but that whose germs are here, 

What good do they gain on earth who die, 
And let the love of earth go by ? 



X. 



I have seen that fair young maid once more ; 

And out of a near, dear place, 
I have watch'd, as if through an opening door, 

The soul that came to her face. 



LOVING. 20 1 

I have talk'd with her ; and oft has it seem'd 

As if I had known her long, 
In a mystic realm of which I have dream'd, 

In a realm where speech is all song. 

At times, I have found no need of speech. 

A simple wave of the hand, 
A shrug, a look, so far would reach 

That her soul could understand. 

Before my lips had time to frame 
The feeling that sprang to thought. 

Up out of her own fair lips there came 
The answer my soul had sought. 

I have learn'd from her with a sweet surprise 
How few are the words they need. 

Whose dimples and wrinkles of cheeks and eyes 
Write out what the soul can read. 

But what has brought her, and who can she be 
That reads me through and through. 

With the eyes of a god that, turn'd on me. 
Know all that ever I knew? 

XI. 

I have met her again, and again, and again ; 
And, whenever I meet her, my spirit then 
Will leap into life, like a year on the wing, 
When flying from winter it flutters in spring. 



202 A LIFE IN SONG, 

I have found her face in the crowded room ; 
And strange it arose as a rose in bloom 
In the depth of a desert of rocks alone, 
For I never saw then a charm but her own. 

I have heard her words ; and their tones would 

float 
Through the sounds about like a musical note, 
More sweet than a bell when a port is nigh, 
And the clouds hang low, or the winds are high. 

I have walk'd with her ; and my nerves have 

sway'd 
As if each were the chord of a harp she play'd. 
And every pulse were a note to greet 
The soft low beat of her firm young feet. 



XII. 



In the dusk of an evening, clear and still, 
I climbed the path to her home on the hill. 

So the sun withdrawn 

Climbs up to a dawn, 
When, just before it, the night gives way 
And clouds are hanging like blossoms of light, 

Presaging the fruit of the day. 
At last, I stood with her home in sight. 
Through the sky above me the clouds all white 



LOVING. 203 

Flew over the face 

Of the fair full moon ; 
And like them before me the curtains of lace 

Drove to and fro 

O'er the window low ; 
And behind their folds I knew that soon 

My soul should see 
Her face that made life a delight to me. 
But while, anon, I was lingering there, 
As lightly, as if by fingers of air. 

Was open'd the door 

That I paus'd before, 
And coming softly down from above, 
And crossing a corridor clothed in white, 

I saw my love, — 
A form as pure as the moon's pure light 
A form so pure that the night's dark air 
Seem'd the robe most fitting for me to wear ; 
And I shrank to my gloom, and left her there. 
Yet, gazing back, for once, I aver 
I had almost been content to have lost 
My soul itself, nor begrudg'd the cost. 
Had it brought me as near to her, as were 
The soulless things that surrounded her. 
My moods all seem to fit her own, 
And without her seem so void, so lone, 
I have learn'd to envy her senseless gown 
That never knows it is bless'd, 



204 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Yet all day long moves up and down 

With the laughing or sighing that heaves her breast, 

And, clasping tight in its folds embraced 

The neck so white, and the tender waist. 

Keeps clinging close to the frame so sweet, 

And fluttering in and out to meet 

The dear, dear touch of the dainty feet. 

XIII. 

If only a moment I could but stand 

And hold in my own her soft warm hand. 

And under her rustling robe could hear 

The breath that proved that her soul was near, 

I never could ever have doubts again 

That God can live in the frames of men. 

And if I dared, while she stood so nigh, 
Take one long look in her clear deep eye, 
Then, though the power that within would shine, 
Should strike me dead with its light divine, 
To have seen one vision of life so sweet 
Would have made my earthly life complete. 

And if but once, as I grew more bold, 

Her lips in the bowl of their beauty should mould 

A word of love, or should seal my bliss 

On lips that were burning to feel her kiss, 

My spirit, I think, would bound so high, 

*T would be translated nor need to die. 



LOVING. 205 

XIV. 

O, if as my life began, 

I had only bloom'd as a flower, 
A smallest flower in a vine that ran 

Beneath her feet, or climb'd to her bower, 
She might have pluck'd me and held me tight 
In her warm moist hand, or pour'd the light 
Of her soul-bright eyes on my wondering view, 
Till with love they had burn'd me through and 

through. 
She might have lifted, and coil'd me there, 
Caress'd by a tress of her trembling hair ; 
Or let me lie all day on her breast. 
Where the lace-folds throb like nerves of the blest ; 
And then if aught I could be in that hour, 
Or aught I could do with the life of a flower 
Could add to the store of her charms, and make 
Her form more fair for my poor sake. 
My making her sweet life sweeter seem 
Would bring me a bliss that I could not dream. 

XV. 

So little to her am I, 

One man of a myriad men ! 
The eyes that I love go flashing by ; 

They take one look, nor look again, 
And little they know, and less they ask 
Of the soul beneath this fleshly mask. 



206 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Yet what if she saw my soul ? 

If indeed she saw so much, 
She might see other souls, ay the whole 

That is under all forms we touch ; 
And what have I more than others own. 
To claim her love for myself alone ? 

Men may be best as they are ; 

Our bodies may lenses be 
To focus a light with a source too far 

For earth its rays to see ; 
And but for the finite forms we love 
We never might know of the light above. 

Yet at times I deem our souls 

Are all of them born in pairs ; 

And a sweet unchangeable law controls 
The love that each of them shares ; 

And she, could she only know my mind, 

Might find a love, so deep, so kind ! 

I know that I might not seem, 
As I stood disrobed of flesh, 

The pure bright spirit that blesses her dream 
Each night as it comes afresh ; 

But O, could she only know what I 

Could be in my soul ere she pass'd me by ! 



LOVING, 

I might not then seem whirl'd 

From a star afar in space, 
A stranger into a stranger-world, 

To seek but find no face 
To tender my soul a welcome home, 
Where its inward wish would cease to roam. 

XVI. 

Two forms there are that I oft must meet ; 
Two forms that I pass on a lonely street. 
In a single path I see them wend ; 
With one thought's weight I see them bend. 
Brought face to face with whispers low 
From breath to breath their secrets flow, 
And, as if one stroke the sweet lines drew, 
The smile of one is the smile of two. 
Then oft, more swift than a flashing ray 
Through rifting clouds at the dawn of day. 
Through lifting lids a glance will fly. 
All slight yet bright, from eye to eye ; 
While like twin clouds one sunset flushes 
One feeling fills them both with blushes. 
Ah, can it be true that for him should be 
What heaven must surely have meant for me ? 

XVII. 

How can she bear 
His arrogant air ? — 
As if, forsooth, it were fully shown 



207 



208 A LIFE IN SONG. 

That God had given to him alone 

Her cheeks that warm, her eyes that light 

The whole world glowing to greet their sight ? 

What right has he 

To press her hand, 

And look at me. 

As if to see 
My flush that his deed has fann'd ? 

What right has he 
To bend toward her, as if he thought 
That the passionate blast of the breath he brought 

Could add new glow 

To the warmth below 
The flush of a cheek that he leers at so ? 

Ah me, but I pity the race 

If one with his beast of a face 

Can win a woman like that, 
By dancing attendance, and holding his hat, 
And grinning and bowing to see her nod 
As if he were playing the ape to her god. 

XVIII. 

I have met her alone in the street, 
And the smile she smiled was all sweet, 
But many a man has found such smiles 
For him were merely wiles, — 
Each line that allured him laughingly set 
Like a cord that plays for prey in a net. 



LOVING. 209 

And what if over a net so fair 

The brightest eyes be beaming ? 
O who can know if there 

A friendly light be gleaming ; 
Or one like a torch on a hostile shore 
That wreckers are waving where breakers roar ? 
Who knows if the tone that allures his choice 
Be a seraph's or only a siren's voice, 
Which, were he to heed it, his hope would be 
Far safer lured to the stormiest sea? 



XIX. 



I would that the boy whom once I knew 

As I never can know another, 
Had her own dark deep dear eyes look'd through. 

Or had been her earthly brother. 

For I loved that boy, and the boy loved me 

With a love far deeper and purer 
Than ever a love I deem could be 

If well'd from a source maturer. 

We look'd in each other's eyes to see 

Our dearer selves reveal'd ; 
And nothing within each orb saw we 

Save too much love conceal'd. 



2IO A LIFE IN- SONG. 

We rested back in each other's arms, 
And we heard each other's hearts, 

With music far sweeter than ever the charms 
That ever the world imparts. 

For every throb in the blood of one 
Would thrill through the other's veins, 

And the joy of one dispel like a sun 
The night of the other's pains. 

Discordant never in smiles or sighs. 

We wonder'd if it could be — 
Oh God, to think we were then so wise ! — 

That others could love as we. 

I would that the boy whom thus I knew 

Had been of her kith and kin. 
And had shared her earthly nature too 

With that sweet soul within ; 

For if so, I now could be sure as then 
That all of my hopes were true ; 

And my faith could join with another's again, 
And joy in the strength of two. 

And one would be the shelter'd tree 

Whose roots resist the blast ; 
And one the fruitful vine would be 

That lives to clasp it fast 



LOVING. 211 



XX. 



O could I only be sure 

That the heart that I love loves me ; 
And my soul could dream its dream secure, 

Nor awake to joys that flee ! 

O lips of mine, speak out 

The love that is in you pent ; 
If not to solve the inward doubt, 

To give the soul a vent ! 

When the heart is all aglow 
With the flame of love's desire, 

The inward fume must outward flow, 
Or smother all the fire. 

XXI. 

And what if my love reject me ? 

The fault will not be mine. 
Who have let the truth direct me, 

And a motive that seems divine. 

My arms may not be thrill'd 

With the form they would enfold ; 

My empty heart may not be fill'd 
With the love it had hoped to hold ; 

But I yet may be as bless'd 

As the days that return to greet her. 



212 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And the quivering sod her feet have press'd, 
And the air her lips make sweeter ; 

As the buds that bloom and the cheeks that blush 

Like shadows that cling around her, 
As the stars that shine and the skies that flush, 

When dawn and eve have found her ; 

Ay, ay, as blest as the angels are 

That over her pathway hover, 
Whose heaven is truly sweeter far 

Because they feel they love her. 

XXII. 

I have seal'd my doom at last. 

With a wondrous power 

In a still sweet hour. 
The secret my lips had held so fast 
Burst forth, and, alas, my hopes are pass'd. 
I told her about my soul's ideal 

That came from God, and was God to me ; 
And which, in hopes that it might be real, 

I had search'd the world in vain to see. 
Until with a strange and thrill'd surprise, 
I had found what look'd through her own deep eyes. 
And had watch'd like gestures from God the grace 
Of her beckoning form; and at last could trace 

Through coursing hues that would come and go 
Across the radiant veil of her face. 

The shade of her soul as it moved below. 



LOVING. 213 

And I told her, as truly as God had made 

The earth and air not to sever, 
Our lives were allied, and, if we obey'd 

His law, would be one forever. 

XXIII. 

Alas, had the lightning suddenly flash'd 

From the calm of a clear blue sky, 
I had started less than I did, abash'd 

By the strange cold light of her eye. 
Yet whether amazed she were or griev'd, 

My wonder could not know ; 
But her breast had not so calmly heav'd 

If love had surg'd below. 
Then why had her sweet smile lured me on, 

I ask'd, as I took her hand, at last ; 
But her hand withdrew, and her face grew wan ; 

Her smile for me had pass'd. 
Yet I hoped anew when deep in her frame 

A tremulous breath I heard. 
Till out of her lips a parting came 

Where I waited a welcoming word. 
She could not have meant to make me sadder, 
But long, long after good-bye I bade her, 
Behind me would flow 
Like a note of woe 
That parting word, as if what she had said 
Were a wail of the wind in a night with the dead. 



214 ^ LIFE IN SONG, 

XXIV. 

Of all the devils that ever have curst 
This earth of ours I deem the worst 

May be a duplex woman, 
Whose airs are snares that none suspect, 
And are spread where naught can souls protect 

From ruin more than is human ; 

Whose thoughts, when her lover is craving a soul 
So pure he can yield to her the control 

Of all his aims and actions, 
Are weighing the worth of houses and rooms 
And dresses and diamonds and horses and grooms 

For which to sell her attractions. 

A curse to her spirit that makes bright eyes 
As blind as an owl's, — and with gaze as wise, — 

To heaven's light sent to assist them. 
A curse to her fangs from flesh so soft, 
And her serpent-like grace, far crueller oft 

Than aught ever stung to resist them. 

XXV. 

O stars of heaven so pure, 

O buds of earth so sweet. 
What souls can ever be sure. 

When hues like yours they meet, 
That they move to aught with thrilling breath 
Except to danger and to death ? 



LO VING, 2 1 5 

O maiden eyes more pure, 

O rose-red lips more sweet, 
What hearts can ever be sure 

That thrill with you to meet, 
That aught awaits the panting breath 
That does not lure true love to death ? 

XXVI. 

She says I may call her friend. Ah me, 

A sorry end 

Has the lover-friend. 
A place akin to a dog's has he, 
Who, whenever her form may be spied, 
Deems nothing so meet for him, or sweet 
As to snuff the halo of dust at her feet, 
And to crouch and bound and bark at her side, 
And, trembling to feel the tap of her hand. 

Be weary never 
Of springing to fetch and carry whatever 
Her face and her voice demand. 
Full many a man has found to his cost 
A master made of the maid he had lost. 
Her lover turn'd friend is one to abuse 

And cushion her sense of sovereignty, 
A man to attend her, and flirt with, and use 

To waken another to jealousy. — 
Yet O, my soul, who else but ghouls 
Turn heavenly love into earthly tools, 



2l6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Or light by the glare of that sacred flame 
A path that leads to a selfish aim ? 



XXVII. 

No weak, half-hearted love can be 
The noblest love, or the love for me. 
The power supreme on the spirit's throne 
If it reign at all, must reign alone. 
What fills my soul with its claims divine, 
Like God whose image it forms in mine, 
Can never clasp to a full-thrill'd heart 
A love that can only love in part. 
The pulsing heat of my life's desire 
Is the glowing light of a growing fire, 
Whose flames in the form on which they fall 
Must all be quench'd, or burn it all. 

XXVIII. 

Ah, did my love but love me well, 
I scarce could need my love to tell ; 
Out through my every trembling tone 
Would thrill through her the joy I own. 

Ah, did my love but love me well. 
Her soul would need one only spell, 



LOVING. 217 

My face would come, my voice would call, 
And these would charm her, all in all. 

XXIX. 

The sun may fill with clouds the sky ; 

The moon may lift the tide, 
And winds that blow from heaven wash high 

The wave-swept ocean side ; 

But all the world keeps whirling round ; 

And always, while it hies. 
Fair exhalations, heavenward bound, 

From mead and main arise. 

The sun and moon and wind above 

Move not an unmoved sea ; 
The heart that does not heave for love 

Will not be woo'd by me. 

XXX. 

Full well I know it is not wise 

Where sense like soul has merit, 
To judge but by the spirit's eyes 

The world we now inherit. 

But oft my soul has deem'd the light 

Attending dreams that cheer us, 
A day's, to which this life is night, 

A day's unseen though near us. 



2l8 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Unseen by us, I dream of life, 
That with our own has union, 

And in the lulls of earthly strife 
With ours can hold communion. 

A life it is, whose charms forestall 
The world's most rare relation, — 

Our guardian spirit, consort, all 
We need for every station. 

A life it is that waits above 
Our mortal forms here living ; 

And makes them instruments of love 
Which it to man is giving. 

For us, despite the claims of earth. 
It forms the one thing real ; 

It brings us all that life is worth ; 
We call it our ideal. 

It owns the face we dream about 
To which our souls are mated ; 

And all we love in earth without, 
Its impress has created. 

Its features vague seem veil'd for us 
In every phase of beauty ; 

And oft, through good embodied thus. 
They woo our wills to duty. 



LOVING. 219 

They make us god-like whose delight 

In forms and faces real 
But springs to greet the image bright 

Of this divine ideal. 



XXXI. 

Has fancy play'd the fool with me, 
Who dream what heaven can do ? 

If heaven ruled love, no heart could be 
Beloved and not love too. 

May it be true that none can live 

The life of which I dream, 
And that earth alone has power to give 

The joy I hold supreme ? 

If heaven indeed have naught to do 

With love, then let my soul, 
Accepting earth as its master too, 

Play out the curse of its role ; 

Ay, play for a pawn without a soul — 

Instead of a god-like queen — 
For the grace of a crafty self-control. 

Or a face like a painted screen. 

If I win her, her gold for my pains may pay, 
Or better, perhaps, her blood, 



220 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Or the sturdy, nervy, passionate way 
She lets her feelings flood ; 

Or the strength that flows from a soulless mould 

May bring me a breed, to my cost, 
Thick-skinn'd, thick-limb'd, with brawn that is bold 

In a world where love is lost. 

All hell may hail their brawlings loud. 
Brute-headed, bull-necked, beast-eyed, — 

A herd to make the devil proud 
Of the way God's wish is defied. 

Accurs'd of God, and a curse to man, 

As have ever been all of their kin, 
Whose lives have only fulfill'd a plan 

To thwart the spirit within. — 

But am I to waive a life of truth 

For a lower wish that craves 
The swine-flung husks that the world, forsooth, 

Slings those it has turn'd into slaves ? 

Am I to yield the spirit's claim 

And grip what has come to thrust 
The empty hide of a soulless frame 

At clutches of greed and lust ? 

My spirit has pray'd for a spirit's love, 
And it would not barter this 



LOVING. 221 

For the whole world's dust, and lose above 
Its right to a dower of bliss. 

For if it were false, would one be sure, 

When thrill'd and awed by love. 
That all love is one and that ever when pure 

It images God's above ? 

And if no love their lust control 

Whom the rites of earth entice, 
Alas for churches that prostitute soul, 

And states that establish vice ! 

XXXII. 

This world has ways where far we roam 

From the purer light 

That our souls deem bright. 
And yet this world is now our home ; 

And planted here for some good cause 

Like seed to grow 

In a soil below, 
The laws of our lives are worldly laws. 

We cannot live the life on high. 

We cannot be 

In all things free. 
Till the flower shall bloom and its fragrance fly. 



222 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Till then, hemm'd in from heaven by earth, 

'T is ours to reach 

For the good in each ; 
Nor waive the higher for lower worth. 

Nor have ever our paths been so well mark'd out 

But that they show 

Wherever we go, 
What lures to faith and lures to doubt. 

Yet if one clear truth have cross'd the world's brink, 

This truth is clear, — 

That all learn here 
Less what to do, than how to think. 

Less what they ought to gain or lose, 

Or feel or say, 

Than how to weigh 
The worth of what they judge or choose. 

And if spirit-life be a life in thought, 

Thought must control 

The reasoning soul 
Before to the wisest life 't is brought ; 

Thought here must learn to know and feel, 

Yet choose the mean 

'Twixt each extreme 
Of dunce or dreamer, sloth or zeal. 



LOVING. 223 

Life's problem thus may all be solved, 

If far above 

Earth's truth or love 
Heaven rates high reason's powers evolved. 

For good can never be lost when sought ; 

But joy and pain 

Both turn to gain, 
If spirit-life be a life in thought. 

XXXIII. 

I pass'd a grove on a lowery day ; 

And out through the trees there rang 
The deep clear note of a low sweet lay 

Where a lonely night-bird sang. 

I watch'd a cloud that floated away ; 

And it seem'd as if bearing along 
A lark whose trills were filling the day 

With an endless flood of song. 

Then the sun burst forth ; and the night-bird 
stopp'd ; 

And flew away to his rest ; 
And the lark to the ground in silence dropp'd 

Where brightly shone his nest. 

Ah, better I thought to sing in the gloom 
Than never be stirr'd by the worth 



224 ^ L^P^ ^^ SONG. 

Of a beauty that never can seem to bloom 
Save over a darken'd earth. 

And better, if like a lark, to soar 

Than sink to the silent ground, 
And tune the old sweet songs no more, 

Because one's mate is found. 

XXXIV. 

My dear one has driven me off ; but I know 

My heart is her's, and its love will show ; 

And to find a way for this will give 

My spirit an aim for which to live. 

My lips will pour into every ear 

The thought she has waked, and whoever shall 

hear. 
While hearing an echo of life so fair, 
Will dream and live in a fairer air. 

My lips will pour into every brain 
My thoughts of her, which there will remain. 
Till its owner shall greet her form so sweet. 
Then all I have said will seem so meet, 
That whatever is o'er them will spring like a lid 
To show her my thoughts that within lie hid. 
Thus all between our souls will be. 
Though never they dream of it, slaves to me, 
And be made to share 



LOVING. 225 

In making her move in an echoing air 
That fills her ways 
With the praise I raise. 

XXXV. 

And what if her heart should then find sweet 

The praise that her nature knows is meet ? — 

A flower may live in its own perfume, 

And why not a maiden fresh in her bloom 

In the sweet air shared by all the wise 

Who follow like fringe her beauty's guise? 

But will my dear one love me too 

For lips that have given her only her due ? 

A fool may think that a passing glance, 

Like a spark from a wheel, as he whirls in a dance, 

A touch of his hand, a word, a sigh. 

May win the heart that his form flits by. 

But love is a boon, if wise one be. 

Too dear to be won by a worthless plea. 

Wise love has a spirit that craves to find 

The inward mind, 
A soul to its own soul so allied 

That though no more 

Of flesh two wore 
Their souls would linger side by side. 

XXXVI. 

For the warmth and cheer to be bought with gold, 
Where neither can ever regale them, 



226 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Men delve in the depths through damp and cold 
Till body and spirit fail them. 

To be leaders of men, who whip and rein 

Those first in name and station, 
Like beasts of burden in sweat and pain, 

They drag the car of the nation. 

For clod to stand on, and call their own, 
For a flag of which to be prouder, 

Like stubble that into the fire is thrown 
They charge into shot and powder. 

In hope of a heaven their fancies fill 
So vaguely that wise men doubt them. 

They cripple their joys on earth until 
They have made a hell about them. 

But whenever the good of all good conies. 

That most is worth possessing, 
The feast of which all these are crumbs. 

The viand of which the dressing ; 

When comes true love that to gain, aftei all, 
Is the one thing in life worth doing, 

Men think it will yield to a beck or a call. 
And does not need pursuing. 

Ah, fools, as little of good we earn 
By ease on earth as by sinning ; 



LOVING, 



227 



A love for which we are wise to yearn 
Can only be won by the winning. 



XXXVII. 

' My dear one has driven me off, but no, 
She shall not thwart me so. 
Without my planning, if ever we meet 
In a crowded room, or a bustling street, 
Though nothing of love my tongue can say, 

My cheeks will blush 

As the pale clouds flush 
When comes the sun that has brought them day ; 

My stateliest bow 

Will show her how, 
O'ercome by a vision I find so sweet, 
My whole frame longs to fall at her feet ; 
And if we formally clasp our hands. 

Each tingling nerve 

In my own will serve 
With a touch to tell her my soul's demands ; 
And all my tones, whatever I say, 

Will tremble and sing 

Like the notes of a string 
That rings in a harp that the angels play. 
And who knows but, at last, sweet love may rise 

Like a fount that wakes 

In a rock that breaks, 
And under each trembling lid, 



228 A LIFE IN SONG. 

tJp-sparkle the spray to her bright dim eyes, 
All loath to show 
The secret that there I learn is hid ? 

XXXVIII. 

My dear one has driven me off ; but O 

She must not thwart me so. 

Her life's full destiny must she know, 

When dower'd with mine own, as well, she stands 

With doubled head and heart and hands. 

Ah, could she but dream 

How sweet it would seem 
For me to give my life for her own, 
To be her slave and that alone, 

A willing slave. 
Who all worth living in life would save, 

Though I toil'd all day 

In the weariest way, 
If only at home could await me that rest. 
More sweet than ever a seraph blest. 
When, welcom'd for all that in me was best. 
With wonder new, I bent to the grace 
And infinite depth of her thrill'd embrace ! 

XXXIX. 

I have wandered away to seek the street. 
Where I know that oft will pass her feet ; 



LO VING. 



229 



And wonder'd if fate would bring to me 
The form that I so long to see. 

By naught I do, would I have it proved 
That I seek her thus ; but if souls be moved 
Like stars through their courses by God's decree, 
Her life will surely move toward me. 

I think she is coming, and trembling await 
Her form afar like a herald of fate ; 
My heart beats wildly ; alas, for me ! 
I await her vainly ; it is not she. 

I think she is talking, the tone so clear 
That my soul is awed that I dare to hear ; 
And I turn for a greeting to be my own ; 
She is not there, but I stand alone. 

Alas, must I ever wandering go 

Where shadows and echoes delude me so ? 

How can one live a life ideal 

Who fears that love can never be real ? 

XL. 

At last we have met ; and we paused and talked 

In the old familiar way ; 
And her words were kind ; and we turn'd and 
walk'd 

Till the light had left the day. 



230 A LIFE IN SONG. 

We have found a work that we both can do ; 

And oft we meet to confer. 
We are working for others, with others too ; 

But I, I work for her. 

At times, we wait when the work is done ; 

For more that needs to be said; 
If only to note that the evening sun 

Is turning our skies to red. 

There is most for us all to say, I think, 
When the heart is least at ease. 

The streams that leap the stoniest brink 
Swell most the tale of the breeze. 

And so we loiter, and let our words 
Float off from their currents of care, 

And echo about us, like songs of the birds 
That trill through the evening air. 

To sit by her side, as the light grows dim. 

Oft fills this mind of mine 
As a glass with wine ; and it floods its brim 

With a sparkle that seems divine. 

Of what do we talk ? — Of the goals of life. 

The freedom and peace to be, 
When the good shall always gain their strife 

With truth as their only plea. 



LOVING. 231 

We talk of the world as it shall be, when 

Men heed the spirit's call ; 
And the untold worth to bless them then, 

When heaven shall rule them all. 

We talk of the world as it is, that strives 

With forms to hide the heart. 
Were it made by us, forsooth, no lives, 

When at one, would dwell apart. 

Or, if nearer objects claim our view. 
Our thought on ourselves may fall ; 

And our whims we dress, and undress too 
Like a child at play with a doll. 

Do we mention love ? Oh, how should we dare? 

For love one may only harm 
By stripping its form of the mystery there, 

Which is oft its holiest charm. 

But I like to unfold to her all my plans 
For the courage she makes me possess. 

Like a warrior touch'd by a priestess's hands, 
Foretelling a sure success. 

For hours I linger, nor break the spell, 

Till under the moon so bright 
The great town-bell will ring like a knell, 

For it bids us bid good-night. 



232 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XLI. 

O search that was longest, O world that was wide, 
O heart that was toss'd on a compassless tide, 
Waves wild with commotion, ye hush into rest. 
And there beyond lies the land of the blest. 

O eyes that had watch'd for the form of delight, 

O ears that had listen'd the long, long night, 

O hands that had touch'd what dropp'd from you 

dead. 
No looming delusion your faith had misled. 

Nay, brighter than suns, love's own true beams 
Are burning through mists that obscured them in 

dreams. 
No cheeks of a phantom had e'er such a glow ; 
No eyes of a phantom such trust could show. 

Come hither ; lay hold of my spirit, O love. 
That flutters its wings like a captive-dove. 
Sweet pain, to be pierc'd by the shaft of thine eye ! 
Sweet prison, in thy warm clasp to lie ! 

Ah, dearest of dear ones, was ever a face 
More fair than thine own in the holiest place ? 
My reverent spirit yields to the sight ; 
• It yields as to God, where love is and light. 



LOVING. 233 



XLIl. 



To-night when the sun had sunk below 

And the moonlight fill'd the sky, 
Our hearts were beating like wings that would go 

And glow with the stars on high. 

surely our souls had left the earth ; 
For a vague and mystic light 

Hung over our hopes, and hush'd our mirth, 
And hid the world from sight. 

1 had touch'd her hand ; but my soul within 

Felt not the flesh that I press'd ; 
But the flow of currents it knew were akin 
To the fair dear life of the blest. 

And then it was all so easy, at last, 

For me to say what I said ; 
As her full bright eye she downward cast, 

And turn'd from me her head. 

She is mine, she is mine ; and the years may go ; 

And the worlds may whirl where they will ; 
But heaven is good ; and forever I know 

Our hearts must have their fill. 

XLIII. 

Look up, my love, and let me see 
Those eyes of thine gaze full on me. 



234 A LIFE IN- SONG. 

One glimpse were heaven, although thek light 
Should blind me to each lesser sight. 

What though their more than earthly fire 
Should turn to flame my heart's desire ; 
'T were sweet to let this life of mine 
All burn to incense at thy shrine. 

O could thy power thus make me thine, 
'T would all my coarser self refine ; 
For nothing would be left of me. 
Save what should be a part of thee. 



XLIV. 

I half believe my senses err ; 
For how can it ever be true 
That her soul can see 
Such charms in me 
As have drawn my soul to her. 
And have made one life of two ? 

Can her eyes have ever beheld my frame, 
Transfigur'd by a glow 
From foot to face 
Of beauty and grace. 
As I see her ? — Yet the halo came, 
Or she had not lov'd me so. 



LOVING. 235 

Does ever the slightest move of mine 
With rhythm so fill the air, 
That her veins all beat 
With throbs more sweet, 
Than if she were breathing a breeze divine, 
And a god were passing there ? 

Can ever my flesh appear so fair, 
And the blood so warm below 
That the gentlest touch 
Is all too much ? — 
Nor her tingling nerves can bear 
The joys that through them flow ? 

Ah now, my frame, you are dear to me. 
What else below or above 
Could ever appear 
So deeply dear ? 
What else could I wish to have or be ? — 
For ah, you have won her love. 

O new-found bliss of an earthly birth ; 
This frame may be but sod ; 
But sod or soul 
She loves the whole 
That I am, nor another could have such worth ; 
J would rather be man than God. 



236 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XLV. 

Ah, loved one, not the dullest nerve 

In all this form I own 
But would be thrill'd with bliss to serve 

And toil for thee alone. 
So, darling, put thy hand in mine, 
And let me hear thee call me thine. 

What canst thou do to seem more dear ? — 
Seem more to own me, soul and form ; 

Nor think they e'er can be too near 
Thy heart that love keeps warm. 

O darling, make my whole life be 

One long sweet dream of pleasing thee. 

XLVI. 

What sigh is this, my trembling breast ? 

What wish does life deny thee ? 
These throbs, like wings that wait suppress'd,- 

Ah whither would they hie thee .? 

Deep sighs of love, I know their quest, 
And where they would be winging, 

No dearer, sweeter, softer nest 
Was ever the goal of singing. 

There love, when it is all express'd, 
These bands of thine will sever, 



LOVING. 237 

And life that moves to all things blest 
Thy joy will free forever. 

XLVII. 

O wedding-day, thou flower most rare 
Of all that burst from bulbs of night, 

Lift o'er my eyes thy petals fair. 

Nor shed for aye thy leaves of light. 
Nor let them e'er decay. 

O day, this coming air of thine 

Intoxicates my soul with sweets, 
Life-giving as the breeze divine 

Through which the new-born angel greets 
The dawn of endless day. 

O day, thy clouds, though rain they bring, 
Will float like birds athwart the sky, 

At rest upon an idle wing. 

Or pouring forth sweet songs on high 
That shower with trills the way. 

XLVIII. 

The birds are waking ; 
The dawn is breaking ; 

The window lights grow clear ; 
The east is gleaming ; 



238 A LIFE IN SONG. 

I am not dreaming ; 

My wedding-day is here. 

O what emotion, 
Or what devotion 

Can greet a joy so vast, 
That comes to sever 
My life forever 

From all its lonely past ? 

The church bell 's ringing 
A crowd is bringing ; 

And through the porch they pour. 
We too are standing 
Upon the landing 

Before the wide church door. 

Without revealing 
A trace of feeling 

In either smiles or sighs, 
O what is under 
The vague dim wonder 

That fills her moveless eyes ? 

Before the altar 
She does not falter. 

How calmly heaves her breast ! 
Her form is bowing, 



LOVING. 239 

Her lips are vowing 

To make my whole life bless'd. 



With friends around us 
Our vows have bound us ; 

New life has been begun. 
Our hands are taken 
And press'd and shaken ; 

For love has made us one. 



XLIX. 

O darling, can it be this frame 
Is mine in truth as well as name ? 
My heart is trembling, love, to share, 
And make thy trembling hope its care. 

What is it brims these lips of thine ? 

Is it a draft of wine divine ? 

O surely never earthly gains 

Could thrill so sweetly through the veins. 

Come near me, love, for I would be 
Forever still more near to thee ; 
And while our lips and arms entwine 
Let all I am or own be thine. 



240 A LIFE IN SONG. 

L. 

When birds at morn are singing, 
And wake me from my rest, 
All heaven above me ringing 

Seems echoed in my breast ; 
Yet not to answer back the birds, 
Nay, love, but thy warm touch and words^ 
Which truly bring the heaven to me 
Because I wake to live with thee. 

At noontime, when my labor 

That toils from height to height 
Has distanced many a neighbor, 
And all my skies are bright ; 
All, all seem nothing, till I find 
Myself within thine arms entv/ined, 
And thy dear lips assuring mc 
That all I gain is gain'd for thee. 

When night falls dark and dreary, 

Or loss has check'd anon 
My powers that worn and weary 

Refuse to labor on, 
E'en then I ne'er can mourn the cost 
Of toilsome days and labor lost, 
While night and weariness to me 
Bring dreams that all are fill'd with thee. 



LOVING. 241 

LI. 

You ask me why I love my love. 

Ah, think not love needs proving. 
She sways me like the breeze above 

That keeps the tree-top moving. 

In her fair face I find a bloom 

Life could not own without it, 
Which, like a rose that sheds perfume, 

Makes all earth sweet about it. 

In her deep eyes I see a light 

That turns her slightest glances 

To beams that guide, like stars at night, 
My life's dark fears and fancies. 

Through her dear voice there sounds a charm 

Past music's in attraction. 
That bids all forms of ill disarm. 

And nerves to noblest action. 

She is of all life's hues the sun ; 

Nor whiter could a dove's be 
Than hers to me, for all seem one. 

Because all mean she loves me. 

LII. 

O friend, the heavens are kind to let no gleam 
Of earth's rude sunlight wake our love's long dream. 



242 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Though we could find more rest in one caress 
Than slumber ever brought to worn distress. 

We know not how the seasons may transform 
Our outward lives with sunshine or with storm, 
But we have learn'd — in this our souls may rest — 
To be at one in all things that are best. 

Twin lives have we, both rooted in one soil. 
And growing toward one hope for which we toil ; 
Twin lives have we, both branches of one vine, 
And all that threatens thy life threatens mine. 

Let love light all our pathway, till our days 
Grow dark with shades of life's departing rays ; 
But O how brightly then shall heaven, at last. 
Glow like a sunset o'er a loving past ! 

Fear not, O love, that in earth's gathering gloom 
These cheeks of thine for me shall lose their bloom. 
Fear not that all the tears that ease thy sighs 
Shall dim for me the lustre of these eyes. 

Nay, nay, as through all struggling manhood's prime 
All sweetest scenes recall sweet childhood's time ; 
As all fair lands through which far wanderers roam 
Are fond reminders of their distant home ; 

As all the race who rise to good from vice 
Dream dreams about an old-time Paradise, 



LOVING. 243 

So, darling, all through all my life to me 

Each new-found joy shall turn my thought to thee. 

Our home may know no young sweet face or tone 
To thrill my heart that heeds through each thine own ; 
Yet wheresoever love is roused in me, 
Each form I love shall seem a part of thee. 

No more can man or matron, maid or boy, 
With coming charms excite my spirit's joy, 
But these must find in thy fair form their birth, 
But these must gain from thy dear life their worth. 

The light of heaven has burn'd thine image where 
My soul must evermore its impress bear. 
Naught now can come to bless my spirit's view, 
But, where it comes, thy smiling form stands too. 

Nay more, my true one, thy soul's flowing love 
Holds in its depths the imaged heavens above ; 
And when 't is quaffed, and floods my being's brim, 
The draft fits God. I feel akin to Him. 

Some day, O love, dark death will come to us ; 
But need not end our loving. Living thus. 
Why should we mourn for life's dry leafless vine, 
Who seek heaven's vintage, and have saved the wine ? 

We shall have liv'd and loved ; nor all earth's pain 
Can make us feel that we have liv'd in vain. 
Life is no failure in vv^hich earthly love 
Is grown and ripen'd for the world above. 




OTE SIXTH. 



Full many a time of old," the 

soldier said, 
When on the following day the 

friends had met, 
'' Have I beheld the poet in his home, 
So thrill'd when watching babes and wife so fair ? 
It form'd the centre of his joys and hopes, — 
Almost the centre of the joys and hopes 
Of all the busy town in which he dwelt. 
Still preaching on the Sabbath, yet a man 
Whose pen had won for him a wide renown. 
And whose wise energy had brought him wealth, 
In every house was famed his generous worth. 
Though gray-beards might recall a former time 
When many an indiscretion marr'd his youth, 
None blamed him now for any earlier fault. 
In all completed pictures of this life, 
Dark tints but give the bright ones rare relief, 
Defects in youth, because they are defects, 
But prove more merit in the one who turns 
244 



NOTE SIXTH. 245 

His poor resources into rich results. 

And far and near his wisdom too was famed. 

How keen his insight ! and how deep he probed 

Beneath all outward proof ; how far his views 

Reach'd round the world, tho* ne'er a voyager ! 

For one may see this life and stay at home. 

Between two walls imagination oft 

Finds truth that world-wide travellers never know ; 

Nor does it always make men wise, I deem. 

That they have napp'd in Nice or roam'd in Rome. 

But soon his life, thus anchor'd as it wished. 

Was destin'd once again to beat the waves, 

Where under wilder skies in darker night, 

By tacking to the winds of circumstance, 

He was to ride the storm out, and to come 

Where only, it may be, the dreams of youth 

Could find fulfilment in the deeds of age." 




r E R V 1 N G 



Souls make their own surround- 
ings, moving on 
Through lights and shadows 
by their presence cast ; 
And paths, with these all gone, seem changed anon, 

When seen by those who trod them in the past. 
This may be why my mind oft seeks to sever 

Myself from scenes that once appear'd my all : 
This may be why there seems to loom up ever 
A figure not my own in paths I now recall. 



II. 

A man I see with blood and brain the kind 

Earth terms eccentric, since it finds them few ; 
As wise Chinese with half-hiss'd whispers mind 

A heathen head to which they find no cue. 
For far extremes his moods were always linking,- 

The swiftest passions and the strongest will, 
The maddest fancies and the sanest thinking, 

A poet's ken and all a plodder's trust in drill. 
246 



SER VING. 247 

III. 

His broad desires in broadest fields would roam, 

Where'er was worth his nature to attract. 
While ignorance with him smiled and seem'd at 
home, 

And wisdom would not know a trait he lack'd. 
His mien, like water, imaged life around it ; 

And, chang'd by each new-comer's wish or whim, 
A mirror to reflect whatever found it, 

A man could read some men through what they 
saw in him, 

IV. 

And yet he played no mere time-server's part. 

Nor waived old truth and friendship for the new. 
Who judged he waived them would misjudge a 
heart 
No more susceptive to them both, than true. 
But traits like these, because not always blended. 

Oft made his nature doubted and reviled ; 
Some deem'd them craft, and such their friend- 
ship ended ; 
Some deem'd them whims, and such would chide 
him like a child. 



When young, not few had found his ways too old ; 
When older, few had found them not too young 



248 A LIFE IN SONG. 

His friends for his reserve oft thought him cold ; 

His foes thought all he knew was on his tongue. 
Yet ever for a true demean ambitious, 

His greatest virtue proved his greatest fault. 
Oft men, adepts in vice, would deem him vicious. 

Because no guile's discretion made his frankness 
halt. 

VI. 

While earth keeps training men to use device, 

The souls too proud to use it or too pure, 
Are sure to rouse at last from lips precise 

The chidings of some wrong-reform'd ill-doer, 
Whose former vice has foul'd the soul's emotion, 

Who deems a sight of naked spirit sin, 
And all love haunted by some carnal notion. 

And so keeps out the Christ to keep the devil in. 

VII. 

Besides, broad views alone give men offense. 

What tho' on life's wide sea loom stars and shoals, 
Both theories for thought and facts for sense ? 

Alas for those whose too well-balanced souls 
Let not the aspect of but one view draw them ! 

Think you that men will yield to such their trust ? 
Most men are curs, and let mere brute-will awe them 

Far more than great-soul' d thought, however 
wise or just. 



J 



SER VJNG. 249 

VIII. 

Not long a philosophic, loving mind 

Can well endure all dearth of sympathy. 
To seek this kindly, and yet fail to find. 

Makes lack of welcome seem hostility. 
And this man's head and heart were so united, 

His thought woke passion, and his passion 
thought. 
His logic fired his fancy, when excited ; 

His fancy fann'd the forge wherein his logic 
wrought. 

IX. 

It wrought his woe, and this his reason knew. 

He knew his own ideals made him sad. 
He yet v/ould rather sigh and urge the true, 

Than smile and seem contented with the bad. 
So oft within life's theatre of action. 

He play'd the preacher, where men sought a 
clown ; 
And took a keen but morbid satisfaction 

When those who only cared for pleasure hiss'd 
him down. 

X. 

Those modest plants that men term sensitive, 
If unmolested, show no morbid traits. 

It is the alien touch which strangers give 

That shrinks their leaves to sharp and hostile 
statea 



250 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Thus find we often shrinking spirits wearing 
Unfriendly mail, where aught their trust repels ; 

But, when the doubt has pass'd, which caused this 
bearing, 
Of what a genial life their loving welcome tells ! 



XI. 



When men's misjudgments thus have made a man 

Withdraw from them, nor longer care to live, 
He oft is forced, as if by nature's plan. 

To seek new friends, who, too, are sensitive. 
In these, perchance, the soul may find its brothers ; 

With these, perchance, can life again seem sweet. 
For these, in seeking charity from others. 

Have gain'd it, too, to give to those with whom 
they meet. 

XII. 

The man of whom we write, in time so met 

An orphan teacher, homeless, pure, and fair, 
A maiden toiling for her bread, who yet 

Had willing hands in others* toil to share. 
Though hard she wrought, her touch made all her 
labors 
Like works of art ; and, bless'd with beauty's 
dower. 



SERVING. 251 

Although her garb was plainer than her neighbors', 
Her face made this unmark'd as leaves beside a 
flower. 

XIII. 

In common walks of life the two had met ; 

And joined in common thought and common 
speech ; 
And, often, many a common good to get, 

Had tender'd apt assistance each to each. 
Placed side by side, their hands had touch'd and 
trembled, 
Their eyes glanced at and through each other's 
eyes. 
Behind the hands were hearts ; nor had dissembled ; 
Behind the eyes were souls ; there had been smiles 
and sighs. 

XIV. 

And then, anon, to him this maiden's frame, 

One mote of many a million in the world, 
More dear appear'd than all the gems that flame 

In all the stars through all heaven's welkin 
whirl'd. 
Thus thought the man ; and she, the while he 
thought it, 

Had found such strength within his frame of dust. 
Which even winds could waste, that, ere he sought it. 

Her soul, at rest with his, had felt unending trust. 



252 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XV. 

And both were right. The world for every man 
Holds but his own world, be it large or small. 
Ay, both were right, fulfill'd but nature's plan, 

Who in each other found their all in all. 
The two were wed ; and, soon, like love's own 
flowers. 
Two babes the pair had doubled, and their care ; 
But babes in homes, like buds that bloom in 
bowers. 
Keep out the sunlight but with hues that hold it 
there. 

XVI. 

More sweet than bursting buds and sprouting grain 

That bring new life to view when spring draws 
near ; 
More bright than summer suns that gild the plain. 

Ere autumn crowns with gold the old grown year ; 
More sweet, more bright to me appear the graces 

That fill the spring of childhood's opening worth ; 
More sweet, more bright the smiles of kindly faces 

That in the home make ripe the fruits of heaven 
on earth. 

XVII. 

What tho' the years that come with drought and 
frost 
May bring disaster and may leave distress ? 



SERVING. 253 

The parents' faith can look past harvests lost 
To where the future shall the harm redress. 

Their offspring whom their love is fondly training, 
Show beauty in the bud, and promise more : 

And if one season blast its best attaining. 

Oh, has not early life long years of growth in store ! 

XVIII. 

So storms that sweep where man in vain contends. 
When forced unshelter'd through the earth to 
roam. 
And trust in those who prove but fair-day friends, 
Harm not the soul well wall'd within the home. 
Let false friends go, when those of home stay near 
one. 
Privations come that but deprive of ease. 
No other loss can seem the most severe one ; 

Nor other woe overwhelm one toiling still for 
these. 



XIX. 



Thus thought the man, and lived, until he found 
The maid, once wooed by him, a matron grown, 

With now a yielding nature, soft and round, 
That cushion'd well all angles of his own. 

The spirit which his hopes of old excited, 
Had found at last the cradle of its rest 



254 ^ LIFE m SONG. 

Where, like a child and lover both united, 

He dreamt of love, yet woke and thought real 
love the best. 

XX. 

Yet deem not true all theories that extol 

The choice of those who wed their opposites. 
Where love flows freely forth from soul to soul 

The channel from the one the other fits. 
Nor say the traits of those without affection, 

Because unlike, endow their children well : 
One talent of which love has full direction 

Finds heaven, while hate-led genius yet gropes 
near to hell. 

XXI. 

The truth is trite that earthly trust can wend 

Two ways alone in which 't is ne'er beguil'd : 
When, journeying with it, moves a like train'd friend, 

Or, this impossible, an untrain'd child. 
The man we v/rite of, had found both together ; 

For life had brought him wife and children too. 
With these contented, he cared scarcely whether 

One more was true or false ; indeed he scarcely 
knew. 

XXII. 

Years pass'd whose heavens had hardly held a 
cloud. 
Then, all at once, disease that roam'd for prey 



SERVING. 255 

First made his pulse flee fever'd from the shroud, 
Then clutch'd and check'd and chill'd it, where 
he lay. 
Friends came and urged him, other aims displacing, 

To court the favors of a foreign shore, 
Assuring him that there the airs more bracing 
Would kindle in his veins the healthful heat of 
yore. 

XXIII. 

At first he would not heed them. Life in him 

Was rooted to his home ; how could it thrive 
Transplanted, ay, dissever'd, limb by limb, 

From that which kept each inward power alive ! — 
Yet forced away, he gain'd from distant nations 

Far wider views, and wiser ones perchance. 
On earth men cannot choose their soul's relations. 

But riding toward success must bridle circum- 
stance. 

XXIV. 

He bade farewell then, with a vague regret 

And dreamlike deeds and doubtfulness of fact. 

To wharf — and wife — and son — and infant pet — 
And long blue hills round which his vessel tackt ; 

Then pass'd through dizzy nights of phantom-fight- 
ing, 
And days whose close meals clogg'd all appetite, 



256 A LIFE IN SONG. 

O'er seas where scarce one sail loom'd up, exciting 
Monotony too dull to tire him or delight. 

XXV. 

Yet wrong I thee, thou wide and wave-swept sea, 

And tireless wheels that whur so ceaselessly. 
I wrong the skies that, bending down to thee. 

Yet fail to compass thine immensity. 
I wrong that mighty breast, whose endless griev- 
ing 

Inspires the wild response of sailors' lays, 
That bosom where omnipotence is breathing, 

And wakes in distant isles the heathen's awe- 
struck praise. 

XXVI. 

Tremendous monarch of all elements 

Whose broad arms clasp the heavens, their only 
peer. 
What age of wrong, what wail of turbulence 

First hail'd thee tyrant of our trembling sphere ? 
Who bade those winds arise and rouse thy laugh- 
ter? 
Those lightnings flash to fret thy fitful reign ? 
That menace fierce to peal in thunder after? 

Those waves to howl and hiss at life o'erwhelm'd 
and slain ? 



SERVING. 257 

XXVII. 

Say power of dread, is it thy rage or joy 

That hurls confusion o'er the vessel's way, 
The while 't is toss'd as lightly as a toy, 

Or cliff-like driven to sink beneath the spray ? 
Ah, when 't is dash'd along the dark fog under, 

No eye can pierce the veil of instant doom, 
Till hidden rock or ice with madden'd wonder 

Roars at the rising foam, — man's ghost-track and 
his tomb. 

XXVIII. 

N^o human skill saves here ; men work, men weep. 
Why shouldst thou care, thou omnipresent sea ? 
The blasts that rave and clouds that round thee 
sweep 
Owe substance, breath, existence, — all to thee. 
They gain their grandeur, when thy waves are 
hoary ; 
And when, worn out, their wayward might would 
rest, 
No rest they gain, till thou with pardoning glory 
Dost gather all again on thy resentless breast. 

XXIX. 

Nor when fair skies or shores most beauty show. 
Can they outrival thee, O, Lord-like deep ! 



258 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Within, and yet not of, thy life below, 

On thy calm breast, they all in image sleep ! 

Ay, ay, the peace that follows thy restraining 
Of storms that rage to vent thy wrath sublime, 

Crowns thee victorious, every power containing, 
Thou God in miniature, eternity in time. 

XXX. 

In vain, these thoughts ! or aught that spake con- 
tent ! 

Too slowly sail'd our friend those waters o'er. 
Until one sunny morn their outlines bent 

On purple downs of Ireland's fertile shore. 
That paradise beyond the ocean, dreary 

With endless restlessness of roll and spray, — 
Could any dream relieve the eyelids weary 

More restful than the hills encircling Queens- 
town Bay ! 

XXXI. 

Or where could fairer bands of fairies arm 

Than Spenser spied on those fair banks of Lee ! 

Or how could beauty bear one other charm 

Where Lake Killarney rock'd Kate Kearney's 
glee ! 

Rare isle ! — but ah, were nature's gifts expended 
Ere here she reach'd the boons the soul demands ? 



SERVING. 259 

Or wast thou left by wealth and rank unfriended, 
To make thy sons, fled hence, all friends of other 
lands ? 

XXXII. 

Oh Ireland, Ireland, would some power divine 

Could point the way to free thy peasantry 
From all that fetters those proud souls of thine 

In bonds of ignorance and poverty ! 
Yet still hope on ! For thee, tho' progress falters, 

The light shall come for which thy children pine, 
Which long on other lands' less favor'd altars 

Has fanned the brightest life from hearts less 
warm than thine. 

XXXIII. 

Past leaden Dublin and her silvery bay 

The traveller trod the lowly banks of Ern ; 
Then dream'd in Londonderry of the day 

When Walker's breath made hope extinguish'd 
burn ; 
Then climb'd the Giant's Causeway, thrill'd with 
thinking. 

How round those cliffs like Coliseums grand. 
Once o'er the ships of Spain's armada sinking. 

His wave-swept organ roar'd its Irish reprimand ! 



26o A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXXIV. 

But who, that sought historic mounts and lakes, 
Traced not fair Scotia's image o'er the wave, 
Toward mounds and meads, where scarce a sun- 
beam breaks 
But bounds the ground to star a patriot's grave ? 
Proud land, whose knees have knelt to tyrants 
never, 
Whose clans of old have kept their children free, 
Where thrives an earnest thought, a high endeavor. 
That would not take delight, when face to face 
with thee ? 

XXXV. 

Where dwell the pure who would not praise thy 
name ? 
Thy wrong at home precedence gives to worth, 
And though in thy chill clime cold greets the 
flame, 
Thy light, wherever borne, enlightens earth. 
For this would truth forget false virtue's features. — 
Awed still by thoughts of hallow'd Sabbath noons. 
Ye beggars never doff the cant of preachers ! 
Nor squeeze through squeaking bagpipes, irre- 
ligious tunes ! 

XXXVI. 

But who could here note all a stranger's thought 
That springs to crowd each path where'er he turns, 



SERVING. 261 

While every scene with new suggestions fraught 

Recalls a Scott or Wallace, Bruce or Burns ? 
He delved through Bannockburn ; he mounted 
Stirling, 
Where half-way up to heaven appear'd his view ; 
Then, coach-swept, through the cliff-walled Tros- 
achs whirling 
Came first upon Fitz-James, and then on Rod- 
eric Dhu. 

XXXVII. 

Nor did a force that seem'd enchantment fail 

To draw him where the rills of Yarrow gleam ; 
Nor did an echo through its drowsy vale 

Disturb that haunt of many a wizard-dream. 
And not a tree beside its bank was leaning, 

Nor by it there reclined a sheltering rock, 
But veil'd for him a poet's mien and meaning, 

From Newark's birchen bowers to bare St. Mary's 
Loch. 

XXXVIII. 

Then pass'd his feet to where he spied on high 
Helvellyn's crest wise Wordsworth's haunts an- 
nounce ; 

Where bright, susceptive lakes like mirrors vie 
To swell the charms of else unrivall'd mounts ; 



262 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And sudden brooklets, purling each a story, 

Dash down each ledge, and dodge through every 
brake. 
From peaks like broken fragments dropt from 
glory. 
Whose heaven-trail'd clouds will not their sky- 
like cliffs forsake. 

XXXIX. 

And then — who could describe in lines of rhyme, 

Nor circumscribe, the joy, so keen yet kind, 
That England holds for souls of every clime. 

Who honor aught that nobler makes the mind ; 
Where grand cathedrals throb with chorals breath- 
ing 
Through forms of grace their life of gracious 
thought ; 
And ancient towers decay, with ivy wreathing 
Fair forms of fresher art round all the ruin 
wrought. 

XL. 

Nor could mere words one's eager wish appease. 
When striving to depict an English home. 

Where no crude care intrudes on cultur'd ease, 
And service vies but to exalt its own. 

God bless thee long, our own land's mother-nation — 
Most motherly when proud of England too ! — 



SER VING. 263 

God bless that loyalty to each relation, 

Inbred with British blood from lord to tenant 
through ! 

XLI. 

Our land's descendants from thee ever boast 

Of what they first imbibed upon thy knee, — 
That stalwart Anglo-Saxon sense that most 

In church and state keeps thought and action 
free ; 
Who fears a progress, charg'd with freedom's mis- 
sion, 
That gives to English genius broader scope ? 
Earth fears far more thy foe, whose politician 
In tearing thy flag down may lower the whole 
world's hope. 



XLII. 



The snappish gales that fret the channel's waves 
Whirr'd soon the traveller toward the Belgian 
shore ; 
Whose belfries peal each hour that labor craves 

Full half an hour before the hour is o'er. 
What thrift her fields evince! her art what beauty! 
But would her strong, rough Rubens had but 
guess'd 



264 A LIFE IN SONG. 

The joy a wise man finds, as well as duty, 
In making art portray fair nature at her best. 

XLIII. 

Of art he also found a heedful school. 

As cleanly trimm'd as dikes that guard her farms, 
Where crouching Holland makes the sea her tool, 

Nor lets one breeze escape her windmills' arms. 
This thorough race, what have they ever slighted? — 

E'en in their church what tireless energy, 
Where crowds, in chants monotonous united, 

Praise Him who stretched their plains, in like 
monotony. 

XLIV. 

How vain is worship, when its grandeur calls 

Regard away from heaven to human skill ! 
Far better level all our temples' walls 

Than hide the thought of Him who rear'd the 
hill ! 
Ay, better hush the praise that stirs the senses. 

Than have it drown the still small voice within ; 
And better have no church for our offenses 

Than splendid rites that daze the soul made blind 
to sin. 

XLV. 

'T is grand to be, where plain strong spirits praise 
Their Spirit-God in ways as plain and strong ; 



SERVING. 265 

Ay, grand to be wherever life essays 

To echo forth its best in sweetest song. 
Our friend now found a land, where, ere their 
weaning. 
The children clap their hands to classic airs. 
And gray-hair'd sires, on canes or crutches leaning, 
Hear no profounder truths than those which 
music bears. 

XLVI. 

There flows a genial force from things we see. 

Which blends with subtlest currents of the mind, 
And though it leaves each soul's expression free, 

It forms the motive power that moves mankind. 
It pleads in music, argues in suggestions ; 

And bursts to passion in philosophy ; 
In lieu of wielding arms, it merely questions ; 

And in the world it thrives the most in Germany. 

XLVII. 

How blest her sons whose needs appear supplied. 
When but the spirit's wants their lives possess ; 
And, with its joyous freedom satisfied, 

Scarce care for what the world would call suc- 
cess. 
Whoe'er may seek for truth to make inventions 
That strain all lore through lucre's well-filled 
sieve. 



266 A LIFE IN- SONG. 

Their souls, content with having high intentions, 
Rejoice in life because it seems a joy to live, — 

XLVIII. 

A joy to be a boy with endless hope, 

A joy to be a man, mature and strong. 
By day augmenting labor's widening scope, 

By night at rest with " wife and wine and song." 
Let others' thirst at once drain pleasure's glasses. 

The German's lip first blows from his the foam. 
And, ere to sip a second glass he passes, 

The others doze in stupor, or reel raving home. 

XLIX. 

Yet who could not wish here for less that bars 

The outward action from the inward thought ; 
And more humanity, and less hussars, 

To further on the progress all have sought ? 
Who could not wish for faith and aspiration 

More worldly scope ? — for there were times, one 
reads. 
When, not content with theories, the nation 

Led all mankind to truth not more in dreams 
than deeds. 

L. 

Across the Alps, where press'd the Goth and Hun, 
Long years ago, when Rome was in her prime, 



SERVING. 267 

Our pilgrim now was brought with monk and nun 
To worship art — the one thing there sublime. 

For there, in those days, hardly one dared mutter, 
E'en in the gracious tones of Italy, 

What later patriots lost their lives to utter, — 
The call that made all heed the need of liberty. 

LI. 

The earth's Creator made this earth for man, 

And promised heaven to those who used it right ; 
And heirs of heaven should follow none whose ban 

Prevents their moving onward toward the light. 
Why serve a king preventing this ? or nation ? 

The patriot's home is where his duties be. 
Why serve a church ? — God's promise of salvation 

Is not of peace on earth through fear of priests 
men see. 

LII. 

Away with all the forms in state or church 

That aid the aristocracies of earth ; 
And make men rate the bad or good they search 

By outward accidents of rank or birth. 
Away with honoring spirit less than station. 

And crowning men for blood, and not for brain ; 
With testing worth by garb or occupation : 

And letting vice by might maintain itself, and 
reign. 



268 A LIFE IN SONG. 

LIII. 

Would hope could prophesy this change for earth ! 

But one there is that, like another Hun, 
May prove a foe to many a work of worth. 

And out-Rome Rome, and crush all love has won. 
Hail Russia, free ! but if thou stay despotic, 

Hail Europe, when she prunes thine upstart-shoot. 
An outgrowth, Asiatic and exotic, 

That can but bloom, alas, to bear a deadly fruit ! 

LIV. 

But thou, our country's friend, and valor's own, 

O France, rash champion in all conquests new, 
Who has not bow'd when daz'd before thy throne. 

Nor feared on it to find a tyrant too ? 
Top-wave, thou art, where flows our civilization ; 

Thy white crest shows the wind that sweeps the 
sea, 
A courtier's dress or country's devastation, 

Whate'er our fashions be, they all are set by thee. 

LV. 

And some are wise ones ! Would all homes could 
own 

The courtesies that grace the Frenchman's pride. 
Alas, our own forms oft repeat alone 

What apes and parrots might, as well, have tried 



SER VING. 269 

Defects we have, but overdo confession 

Who shroud our own home-life in foreign ways, 

And, short of thought, intent on long expression. 
Curve off to round in French each straight-aim'd 
Saxon phrase. 



LVI. 



Forgive us, France, if fools or fashion-plates 

Have made us rank thee foremost but in arts 
Disguising well a world of worthless traits : 

True worth hast thou within thy heart of hearts. 
And hadst thou only wrought us works of beauty 

Earth's unattractive forms to guise and glove, 
Still beauty in this world ranks next to duty. 

And those who make life lovely next to those who 
love. 

LVII. 

But grander arts embodying grander thought 

Amid thine architectural glories throng ; 
And, where the painter's brush so well has wrought, 

Thine orators have well denounced the wrong. 
Let them as well renounce all wrong ambition, 

Lest with some later revolution cursed 
Their genius, like the lightning, fire its mission 

By brilliant strokes that but make dire the gloom 
they burst. 



270 A LIFE IN- SONG, 

LVIII. 

Thus mused and wrote the traveller, moving on, 

And finding, stored in each new scene, new 
thought. 
He pass'd through Spain, so beautiful, so wan. 

Nor then forgot what Spain, of old, had wrought. 
He climbed the glacier, and the high Alps o'er it. 

He paused the sober vineyard's toil to see. 
If wisdom came, let go what came before it : 

'T is no aristocrat to need a pedigree. 

LIX. 

Yet oh, how dear thy sons, where'er they stray, 

Hold thee, our own just Land, in memory ! 
Where every set and sect may have their say. 

And worth alone insures nobility ; 
Where thrill the breasts of freedom's humble 
mothers, 

Who feel their offspring have but God to serve. 
And in the race they run with common brothers. 

May win whatever crown of life their lives deserve. 

LX. 

But our republic here must bring to birth 
A nobler man than ever lived before ; 

Or else from those who have not grown in worth 
Will tyrants rise as they have risen of yore. 



SERVING. 271 

The home, the school, the church, where no crown 
trains one, 
Must teach of reverence and of truth supreme. 
Or many a will, not taught what best restrains one, 
Will break the free land's peace and end the free- 
man's dream. 

LXI. 

Our wanderer's home was far ; yet this but drew 

More frequent missives from his faithful wife. 
In which her fancy marshall'd facts to view 

Arrayed like hosts that range in fairy life. 
Each week had brought them, till afar he wander'd 

An unknown wild of Asia to explore, 
Where news come not, but oft, as there he ponder'd, 

Would hope forestall his joy to hear from home 
once more. 

LXII. 

Alas his hope but died as many do ; 

For when, at last, the months had brought to hand 
Those long-missed letters, lo, he finds them few ; 

Then, while he reads them, scarce can understand 
The news they bear of how his children languish ; 

For both, he learns, " are sick — are dying — 
dead "— 
Then blotting tears reveal their mother's anguish, 

Who writes no more. " Yet God," he sighs, " is 
overhead ? " 



272 A LIFE IN SONG. 

LXIII. 

Another note had come ; a friend of old 

Of friendship wrote — and then, in words precise, 
Advised, for reasons vaguely left untold. 

His turning homeward — could he need advice ? — 
He did turn homeward ; nor the wild commotion 

Of waves that swept the sea from shore to shore, 
And not the lone expanse of sky and ocean 

Seem'd half as wild and lonely as the soul he bore. 

LXIV. 

At last the sea was cross'd ; he reach'd the land : 

But oh, how changed was every object here 
From when, a year before, each loving hand 

Had waved farewell from off that fading pier ! 
None now were near to give his form a greeting. 

He sought his home, but found it closed and still. 
The door with hollow echoes mock'd his beating. 

He seem'd a wretched thing ; and turned and 
left the sill. 

LXV. 

His house was built beside those lordly banks 
That rise to greet the Hudson's glimmering train ; 

Where man, as if to it were due his thanks. 
Has decked with art its every hill and plain. 



SERVING. 273 

Below him flowed that rare and royal river, 
So white with sails, and waveless tho* so wide, 

And first of rivers destin'd to deliver 

To steam and wheel the power to stem their cur- 
rents' tide. 

LXVI. 

A place there was, not distant from his door. 

Beneath an elm, far seen that region through, 
Where with his babes he oft had sat of yore 

And mused on life, and all the work to do. 
To this his feet now turn'd — how sad our story ! — 

Above that place of joy the same tree waves, 
But o'er three mounds, on which the frost lies hoary, 

Where now his wife and children sleep in fresh- 
made graves. 

LXVII. 

And there in helpless misery did he stay 

Until that wintry day grew chill and dim, 
And anguish burst its aching bonds to pray, — 

The only act those graves had left for him. 
How oft, for all, the only vent for sorrow ! 

The only outlet that the soul can get 
Through which to issue forth and seek a morrow. 

Past earthly shadows where the sun can never 
set ! 



2/4 ^ LI^^ ^^ SONG. 

LXVIII. 

And was he answered ? — He remember'd soon 

The things his friend, not seen yet, might unfold : 
And sought him, and beneath the pale cold moon 

Heard all his cautious tale, so softly told. 
About his wife it was — how, sad and lonely 

Without her babes, her mind at first gave way, 
Then when her spirit cast a faint light only 

Athwart the face it brighten'd, gently left the 
clay 

LXIX. 

Our wanderer heard ; and soon again appears 
Yet more a wanderer, journeying now toward 
naught ; 
Still young, if one must reckon life by years. 

But old through woe that speeds the pace of 
thought. 
Now scans he city crowds beside him thronging ; 
Now moves, a stranger through some village 
street ; 
Now haunts the churches with a fearful longing ; 
But none who hear his words appear his wants to 
meet. 

LXX. 

From east to west he went ; from north to south ; 
Led there at last he scarcely cared for what. 



SERVING. 275 

A change was good, and from a stranger's mouth 
A thought might fill the ebb of pangs forgot. 

What courteous homes he saw his moods to lighten ! 
What patriarchal pride of blood he found ! 

But like a cloud a rainbow arch may brighten, 
Beneath all lay the slave, in soul and body bound. 

LXXI. 

He left the south, and wander'd through the west. 

Where, like some Eden's garden form'd anew. 
The Mississippi's plains reward man's rest 

With boons that elsewhere to his toil are due. 
There sods are flower-beds, needing not a florist ; 

There every field a vale where moisture flows ; 
And every barren swamp, or cliff, or forest, 

A mere mirage in clouds where labor finds no 
foes. 

LXXII. 

But in the east there lie sky-drifting hills. 

Their cliffs, cloud-coursed in heights of mystery, 
Dim dreamy glens, and flash'd surprise of rills. 

Had train'd in youth his faith and fantasy. 
He loved them, as a child may love his mother, 

A simple child who cannot tell you why. 
Yet something feels he feels not for another, 

Too near the springs of life for question or reply. 



276 A LIFE IN SONG, 

LXXIII. 

To these he oft would turn — yet not to rest ; 

Nay, as the flush'd and fever'd blood will start 
About the shot that rends a soldier's breast, 

As if mere movement could remove the smart, 
Unrest relieved his pain, each month revealing 

A milder movement and a firmer eye ; 
Not like a man's, who never had deep feeling, 

But who has learn'd to meet expected grief, and 
die. 

LXXIV. 

Then some he saw in kindly accent spoke ; 

And some appear'd to seek in him a friend. 
And they were kind to cheer his heart with hope ; 

But could they ever help him toward his end ? 
Ah me, what was the wish his work inspiring ? 

Could hills and plains the need he sought sup- 

ply?- 

And though pursued with sinews never tiring, 
Could ever that which always lured him on seem, 
nigh ? 

LXXV. 

He sought he knew not what : he found mankind. 

In all the regions where his feet would wend, 
'T would thrill his heart in every sphere to find 

How love reveal'd can always find a friend. 



SER VING. 277 

Who have not faults ? who are not faults regretting ? 

Who wish not much ? who ever gain their aim ? 
Who form not plans for all mankind's abetting ? 

And is not human nature in us all the same ? 

LXXVI. 

Who search the world, most wonder there to see 
How few the wonders are, where'er they stray. 
Behold, the same fair children, wild with glee ; 
The same proud parent, watching where they 
play; 
The same strong men, bent downward by life's 
troubles ; 
The same sad dames with tired eyes turn'd 
above ; 
The same small graves where drop life's bursted 
bubbles. 
Made dark by fears of ill, and bright by hopes of 
love. 

LXXVII. 

Nor therefore view with heartless unconcern 
Each special aim of manhood's general dust ; 

But fan each spark of ardor that may burn 

In breasts that in their own soul's calling trust. 

For though to reach their goals men from us sever, 
Why, in their hearts, may not heave ceaselessly, 



278 A LIFE IN SONG. 

As in our own, an endless want that never 

Can free those from ourselves who need our 
sympathy. 

LXXVIII. 

All woe is not the loud complaint that pleads 

Where startled pity weeps in sad surprise ; 
Nor bliss the gorgeous guise that decks the deeds 

That win wide homage from admiring eyes. 
Nay, one may weep, despite men's cheers too 
lonely, 

Because his inward spirit stays unknown ; 
And smile amid dispraise world-wide, if only 

One other soul be wending heavenward with his 
own. 

LXXIX. 

A foe we meet upon a desert plain, 

Where we who meet turn back to back, and part. 
Is better than a friend who brings disdain 

To greet the utterance of a trusting heart. 
A slighter cloud above the Christ had hover'd 

If men had made his flesh their only mark ; 
His woe was love that felt love undiscover'd, 

The Father's face withdrawn, and dying in the 
dark. 

LXXX. 

How many more must grieve like him and die 
Before their inward love can be reveal'd 



SERVING, 279 

To those that judge but by the outward eye, 
And cannot trust men's motives if conceal'd ! 

But let us hope, while knowledge still advances, 
That men will learn to trust in manhood more ; 

As trade that once crept on with lifted lances 
Has learn'd, at last, unarm'd, to feed each hungry 
shore. 

LXXXI. 

When men learn all, and skies that dome earth here 

Roll back to let the light of heaven stream 
through, 
Grand truths may in the simplest things appear. 

In outlines which before all mortals knew. 
Let ancient lore trace man's ancestral story 

To mystic loins of superhuman birth. 
The grandest good in which our times would glory 

Is merely to inherit, at the last, an earth, — 

LXXXII. 

An earth made perfect, where converting love 
Makes each man share his heritage with each, 

And prove his faith in heaven's pure life above 
By bringing heaven within each mortal's reach. 

For tho' a grander hope the soul confesses, 
So long as human nature guides its aim, 



28o A LIFE IN SONG. 

Who learns to be a true man here, possesses 

The most that He who made man what he is can 
claim. 

LXXXIII. 

And He who made man what he is — ah, me ! 

To make him what he should be, more and more, 
May send the storms that sweep life's troubled sea 

To bring from depths the gems that line the 
shore. 
Oft spirits, rent within by grief and sighing. 

Show each on whom their inward treasures pour 
A wealth of worth that long has there been lying, 

But not by one about them ever seen before. 

LXXXIV. 

And e'en full clouds may empty. Men meet woe 

As moaning orchards meet an April blast : 
Their wounded limbs that first sway to and fro 

Are red with blossoms, when the storm has past. 
So sometimes trouble keeps the feelings younger 

Than ever joy could. Many souls they say, 
Deprived of light, for simple sunbeams hunger, 

And robb'd of rest, contract no mildew of decay. 

LXXXV. 

Then think not love is mortal, or can die. 
No floods can flow but it has power to brave, 



SERVING, 281 

Too near in nature to the heaven on high, 

To sink resistless in an earthly wave. 
I lore strong than death, bereaved of loved ones 
living, 
True love will aim anon for all men's good ; 
For this its thought, time, strength, and substance 
giving,— 
Ah, could it find an aim sublimer, if it would ? 

LXXXVI. 

So would you find him whom these lines recall, 

Deem not his ways to mournful moods adjust, 
Ah no, for shade no more than light will fall 

On souls that still in God and man can trust. 
To him who still has faith in generous action 

Full many a thankful eye will love confess ; 
And many a hope that thrills life's nobler faction 

On many a lip assure his life of sure success. 

LXXXVII. 

Because assured of this in life within, 

He lives prepared to bless the life without. 

It is within that love's warm springs begin. 
Whose genial flow makes fertile all about. 

For years this man to free the slaves had striven ; 
This aim had roused his efforts and his prayers ; 



282 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And now for this he felt that God had given 

All lessons earth had taught, and freedom from 
its cares. 

LXXXVIII. 

With no home-ties, he wanders through the state, 

And prophesies convulsion and reform 
To those that feel they have not long to wait, 

Who heed in him the mutterings of the storm. 
He spends his years in pleading and in proving, — 

And every year to more who mind his call, — 
How life on earth toward life in heaven is moving, 

And freedom is a gift that God will yet give all. 

LXXXIX. 

The days go by. He early toils and late ; 

And finds no time to give his grief a thought, 
While hopes that loom about him, fair and great, 

O'ershadow all the loss the years have brought. 
And tho* no more his old home's forms and faces 

Await him, when his feet no more can roam. 
In every human form and face he traces 

A likeness of the lost that makes each house a 
home. 

xc. 

Here ends my story. Though, perchance, it seem 
Too old a story, weigh it yet, until 



SERVING. 283 

You think, once more, what men, whom all esteem, 
The same old story in their lives fulfil. 

We know them now ; but ah, there is no knowing 
The pain that gave their souls their second birth, 

When fetters of the flesh fell deathward, showing 
That love for all one's kind which makes a 
heaven of earth. 





OTE SEVENTH. 



Years pass'd," the soldier on 
the morrow said, 
" In which the poet, waiving all 
things else, 
With steps upon the threshold of old age, 
Wrought on with all the ardor of a youth, 
Who thus would free the bondman. Far his feet 
Would journey through the land from town to town. 
The trumpet-blast of truth his lips would blov/. 
Though courting oft maltreatment by his pleas, 
Roused throngs, erelong, with whom he march 'd 

unarm'd, 
A champion of that love of man for man 
Which cannot rest ere all have liberty. 
At last, when old and new thought, ranged in sides. 
Had brought the war that was inevitable. 
Enlisting in the ranks he fought his way 
From private soldier up to general. 
Nor did the brave man leave that sea of war, 
O'erswept by storms and strewn with many a wreck, 
284 



NOTE SEVENTH. 285 

Before the waves roar'd only where the surf 
Foretold the channels of the peaceful port. 
And when, at last, throughout the land's extent 
Men's hearts were beating wildly as the drums, 
And shouts were echoing widely as the bells 
That made the whole air vibrate with delight 
Because of victory, assuring peace 
That with it brought the freedom of the slave, 
And made a nation of divided States, — 
Then was it, when he saw his youth's ideals 
And all the purpose of his age fulfill'd, — 
Then was it that the poet, glad to drop 
The sword and belt and soldier's uniform, 
Once more with eager spirit seized his pen, 
And wrote these lines amid the dawn of peace, 
Not trembling softly in the doubtful dusk. 
But soaring like the lark's lay, touching heaven/' 




ATCHING. 



Life I watch, like one at 
sunset, high upon some 
western hill, 
Looking eastward while the sunbeams with their 

light the valleys fill. 
He beholds a world of beauty, and its darkest 

shade is cast 
By his own sun-girded shadow, stretching o'er it, 

vague and vast. 
Life to me lies like his view there, when a storm 

has thunder'd by, 
And the forests flash with raindrops, and a rainbow 

bends on high. 
Brightly gleam the plains below him, where the 

golden rivers run ; 
Brightly glow the clouds behind him, where in 

glory sets the sun; 
And he knows night's curtain, falling o*er the little 

world he sees, 

286 



WA TCHING, 287 

Falls away from heaven to show there worlds of 

worlds whose light it frees. 
Thus I watch the earth and air, and find that age 

like youth is bright, 
And life's eve and dawn, like day's, are flush'd the 

most with heavenly light. 



What though day will soon forsake me, what though 

death so near me draws ? 
I have seen my cause triumphant ; nor was I its 

only cause. 
Truth may yet move on without me. What is one 

that he should thrive ? 
Ah, though high he be in station, though he nobly 

aim and strive, — 
Yet the small man in his cottage and the great man 

in his hall 
Here fill equal spheres, the agents of the power at 
work in all. 



III. 

Deem not this the power of evil : — Nay, the tri- 
umph of the wrong 

Brings too oft its own destruction ; nor need men 
await this long. 



288 A LIFE IN SONG. 

More is always brew'd in error than befogs the 
thinking mind. 

That which moves the springs of action flows to 
action like in kind. 

Wrong that thrives, becomes presumption ; plans 
to make the right retreat ; 

Blows with madden'd lips the trumpet heralding its 
own defeat, 

Blows, till righteous indignation hails its oppor- 
tunity, 

Glad to break a guilty peace, and crush its foe 
eternally. 

Who, when arbitration once has been submitted to 
the sword, 

Dare or care to shield the wrong from shot and shell 
against it pour'd ? 

O, I hail the crackling barriers of expedient com- 
promise. 

Let them fall, nor more obstruct the pathways of 
the brave and wise. 

O, I welcome shouts of war when men defend 
humanity : 

They may die, but right will live, and God, and 
give the victory. 

IV. 

Oft, alas, for men and nations there are times that 
are not blest, 



WA TCHJNG. 289 

When the surface veils the substance, and o'er- 

looked is all the rest. 
As men's lives are, so their thoughts are ; groping 

in the dark they feel 
Forms of flesh or robes that wrap them, and forget 

what both conceal. 
Clouds hang low, and hide the sky, and make men 

think that heaven is low, 
Till they kiss the dust, half hoping God is dust, 

and worshipt so. 
Then because, indeed, they need it, clear as light, 

come proofs to show 
How the breath of truth is keener than the bayonets 

of its foe ; 
How the gentlest words can waken consternation 

and despair ; 
Though they leave no track behind them ; nor with 

shadows dim the air ; 
Do not glisten in the sunshine ; do not thunder 

o'er the plain ; 
Do not flash the cannon's lightning ; leave no 

smoke to shroud the slain ; — 
Words of truth, re-echoed like the words of Christ, 

that everywhere. 
When they summon powers that lurk in forms 

possess'd of evil there. 
Make them rend the form that held them, leave it 

writhing on the ground, 



290 A LIFE IN SONG. 

While their spirits fly to darkness and forgetfulness 
profound. 

V. 

E'en so now the heaven has triumph 'd, while upon 

the earth beneath 
Sprang and flash'd the sword long rusted, then 

made bright resought the sheath. 
Friends, forgive this exultation. When the old 

man's joy appears, 
Let the truth forever young rejuvenate his frosted 

years. 
Think you mortals err in tracing tokens of a 

heavenly hand. 
Where the bondman gains his freedom, and the 

freeman saves his land ? 
Or is then that cry, inspiring every nobler army's 

van, 
" Liberty ! " a cry that lies the while it stirs the 

heart of man ? 
Nay, I do not err ; 't was wrong that led to Adam's 

curse and Cain's, 
Craved a king, and cringed for Saul, and marched 

on Babylon in chains. 
Those who war against oppression but fulfil the 

Lord's decree : 
They but loose the heavy burden, letting souls 

oppress'd go free. 



WATCHING, 291 

VI. 

I am old ; my sleep is troubled ; and full oft my 

daily thought, 
Plunging into darkness, peoples all the night with 

what it sought. 
When my eyelids droop, my spirit finds a realm of 

visions rare, 
And my old age may be childish, but I watch and 

wonder there. 

VII. 

Once I saw a mortal sailing toward a lone isle of 

the sea, 
Where, he thought, no other's will would check his 

own that would be free. 
First upon the shore he rested ; then, not born to 

dwell alone. 
Longing to be loved, his nature broke away from 

reason's throne. 
Howled the winds like witches' voices ; moved the 

shades like ghostly forms, 
While the leaves like footsteps rustled 'twixt the 

thunders and the storms. 
Till the cynic, far from manhood, all man's nobler 

traits forgot. 
Curst himself and earth and all things, rest or free- 
dom finding not. 



292 A LIFE IN SONG. 

VIII. 

Then I saw a wiser instinct, flowing forth unitedly, 
Where were crowds that came together at the call 

of liberty, 
Which, like thunder on the hillside, rousing rills 

from every spring. 
When they dash to seas that madly o'er the rocks 

the breakers fling. 
Roused, anon, a mass of mortals, who beneath a 

hissing tide, 
Quench'd the flaming guns that bellow'd from a 

tyrant's tower defied. 
Then anon the wrath subsided ; but the mob, ere 

back it roU'd, 
Had to havoc swept the good as well as bad that 

thrived of old. 

IX. 

Then said many : " Note and know now what a war 
of wills will bring, 

Where no master-will controls them." " Long," 
they cried, " long live the king ! " 

Held they then to truth or error ? Every well com- 
pounded lie 

Mixes truth to please the truthful with the false to 
poison by. 

Were they right or wrong, no people crown new 
kings like Saul, I see, 



IVA TCHING. 293 

Till, made slaves by men, they fear them more than 
God who makes all free. 

X. 

O ye masters and oppressors, ye who flout what 
poets do, 

Keen ye are, to treat as dreams the things these 
dreamers deem are true. 

Dreams they are, forsooth, for men, when wide 
awake to gains of earth, 

Selfish here and there suspicious, all assail each 
other's worth. 

Each a tyrant where he dare be, crowds his neigh- 
bor from his path, 

Whining then for laws to limit and restrain his 
neighbor's wrath, 

Whining till he find a tyrant, who with acts that 
goad and bind. 

Fitly bodies forth the tyrant whom he serves in his 
own mind. 

All in vain men sign for freedom, heedless where 
its boons begin ; 

Life is one ; and souls are never free without till 
free within. 

Man himself it is that limits all the good that might 
be his. 

He himself whose fears and failings hold him halt- 
ing where he is. 



294 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XI. 

Men must learn of wiser action ; all their aims 

must nobler be, 
Love for all mankind must rule them, ere their laws 

can leave them free. 
Only when the right impels them, will they cease 

their long complaints ; 
Only love for every duty moves unconscious of 

restraints. 
Only when no malice moves them can the fetters 

clank no more ; 
Only love in every heart can open every prison-door. 

XII. 

Far above I saw a King, whose glory crown'd him 

like the sun, 
While, more fair than stars, his people circled round 

the royal one. 
Where they moved, as he directed, came no hint of 

hindrancy. 
Every pathway opening outward led along unend- 
ingly. 
There anon, full plenty waited, wells of joy that 

might be quaff' d. 
While their depths with scarce a ripple, clos'd 

above each long deep draft. 
And the people in the shadow far below that realm 

of light, 



WA TCHING. 295 

Crush *d by burdens, lying prostrate, — this was what 

had lured their sight ; 
This was what, from every lip, had roused the cry 

for " Liberty," 
Right in deeming its possession would fulfil their 

destiny. 

XIII. 

Grand it is, to know that mortals, though their 

deeds appear their own. 
When aroused in noblest effort never need to toil 

alone. 
When athirst for good, we turn to springs that in 

the soul well high. 
And within their depths reflected see a fairer 

earth and sky, 
Grand it is to feel that visions making all our 

powers aspire, 
Mirror oft the truth above us imaged thus to bless 

desire. 
And if heaven, indeed, have moved us, when our 

spirit so is awed, 
Infidelity to self is infidelity to God. 

XIV. 

In the soul's profoundest depth when all without is 

dim and still. 
Oft a breath of inspiration lights a flame to guide 

the will ; 



296 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And the men who grope in darkness, where the 

gloom may lead astray, 
By this flame aglow within them read some signals 

of the way ; 
Nor pursue mere flash and shadow ; oft for those 

who still press on, 
Outward light will dawn far brighter than the 

soul's it shines upon. 
Then, when inward love is kindled and the outward 

doubts dissolve. 
Safe within a mystic orbit doubly blest our souls 

revolve. 
Safe in life's completed orbit, where from faith 

they move to sight, 
From the truth within to truth that floods the cos- 
mos with its light. 
But, alas, outside the orbit only gloom and grief 

have sway. 
Heaven preserve us all from straying, guide our 

wish and guide our way, 
Join for us the lost connection, where all nature's 

currents blend 
With the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the 

end. 

XV. 

As in one life so in many : all are under one con- 
trol. 



WA TCHING. 297 

All of history but fulfils the law that rules the sin- 
gle soul. 

Times there were, near earth's beginning, when 
impell'd but from within. 

Men but felt the good of goodness and the sinful- 
ness of sin. 

Then they learn'd of outward right, but still, too 
dull to probe its cause. 

Wasted reverence on commandments and the holy 
text of laws ; 

Now the times, at last, are coming, when the soul 
in clearer light 

Must amid unfolding learning serve the wisdom of 
the right. 

God is Lord through independence. By and by we 
all shall see 

How the truth that rules above can rule below, yet 
leave us free. 

See through all earth's changing phases whence we 
come and where we wend, — 

See the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the 
end. 

XVI. 

Never yet an age progress'd, but something wrought 

there stronger still 
In the power that swept it onward than was in a 

human will. 



298 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Never yet a deep desire for light aroused a slum- 
bering race, 

But above the heaven was open'd, and the night to 
day gave place. 

Thanks to God for nobler spirits whom the morn- 
ing breezes wake, 

When they bear the tidings forward, that the dawn 
begins to break ; 

When they pierce the gloom of forests, and across 
the deserts roam. 

Heralding the truth, enlightening every darkened 
human home. 

But alas for thought and effort, — what are all their 
wisest words ? 

What their proof to superstition ? what their elo- 
quence to herds ? — 

Oft for them amid the shadows lifting slowly one 
by one, 

Doubt on empty nest sits brooding o'er the things 
that have been done. 

XVII. 

But the power that moves within them, moves with- 
out them too, and soon 

All the world shall wake and watch the sun that 
journeys toward the noon. 

Soon shall winds that leave the sky arouse the 
waves of every strand. 



WA TCHING. 299 

And the sails of friendly commerce hail the ports 

of every land. 
Soon shall throb the tramp of labor, and the whir 

of work be wheel'd 
Where a host of emigration camp on every vacant 

field; 
Where shall wise men aid the unwise ; and as hand 

to hand they toil, 
Train, anon, the fruits of culture in their souls as 

in the soil. 
More and more the host advances, though but 

lower gains it sought, 
Bridging vales and felling forests for the paths of 

love and thought, 
Making earth a human frame, with ribs of steel and 

nerves of wire, 
Destin'd soon to thrill responsive at the touch of 

one desire. 
Learning, duty, love, are coming. Toil ye on, 

aspiring souls, 
On to where unroll before you, grander methods, 

grander goals. 
Comes a day in which the sun shall burn the mists 

upon the hills, 
Flame against the frozen summits, flash adown from 

melting rills, 
Thaw the whited wastes to verdure, flood the plains 

and quicken dearth, 



300 



A LIFE IN SONG. 



Rout the clouds and all between the man and heav- 
en that gave him birth. 

XVIII. 

Now shall all men trust in manhood, knowing all 

must read the right 
By the aid of that same spirit giving every soul its 

light, 
Knowing earth was Eden till the pair that lived 

there tried to make 
Gods of men, but only dwarf *d their heirs that curse 

at their mistake. 
Now shall no man lord another. God will have 

His own sweet way, 
His own Eden, where all souls may work their 

work and say their say. 
Now shall those of all opinions all each other's 

truth descry, 
While philosophy supported by what all who think 

supply,— 
Pillars this, and pillars that side, grounded well, 

and high and wide, — 
Shall a grander temple rear than all man's art could 

e'er provide. 
Where the saint and sage together at the shrine of 

faith shall bend. 
And the love that lights their life to all the ends of 

earth extend. 



WA TCHING. 301 

XIX. 
Ay, when men desire the whole truth, each one's 

nature hke a chart 
Shall unfold to show what only all together can 

impart. 
Till that time, though those about us vie to be the 

foes of truth. 
Let it be its own defender ; they will learn in time, 

forsooth. 
How much more may spring to light, where only 

wondering fancies teem, 
Than where listlessness in stupor slumbers on with- 
out a dream ; 
How much more may be discerned, where love too 

lightly waves distrust, 
Than where mad intolerance gags a pleading doubt 

with naught discuss'd. 
They will learn that wise men find that minds when 

trusted most, confess 
Where are hid the springs of thought which he 

who moves them needs to press, 
Learn that those who war with words must heed, 

ere crown'd with victory. 
Both the right array'd against them, and the wrong; 

for charity, 
First in logic as in worship, leads the mind's tri- 
umphant train, 
'T is the Christ, not Aristotle, holds the sceptre of 

the brain. 



302 A LIFE IN SONG. 

XX. 

Now I see the day before me, when the pageantries 

of lies 
Which have check'd the march of progress, melt 

as clouds in summer skies. 
Come, divines, and seek the limits of a sect whose 

name ye call — 
Feel for flying shades of darkness. Love has 

levell'd every wall. 
Free in form but bound in feeling, slight in talk but 

strong in deed, 
What the Lord has left to manhood, man has left 

outside his creed. 
Statesmen, come and seek the boundaries of the 

land your people fear'd ; 
Phantom-like the foes conjured there in the night, 

have disappear'd ; 
Wealth, and rank, and honor, come, and seek the 

poor, the low, the base, — 
Where are they ? — in all about you now the child 

of God ye face. 
More and more give way the barriers : one in feel- 
ing, one in thought. 
What remains to hinder aught that all aspiring 

souls have sought ? 
What are plains and mounts and oceans, what are 

tongues to unity ? 
Commerce, customs, institutions, have not all one 

destiny ? — 



WA TCHING. 303 

When the time shall come, a banner by the right 

shall be unfurl'd, 
Where the patriots of the nation shall be patriots of 

the world ; 
And the right shall triumph then in spite of selfish 

men and strong, 
Gog and Magog or the devil, — or conservers of the 

wrong. 

XXI. 

When the time shall come, how blest the eyes that 

spy it come shall be ! 
Just as blest are souls that, till then, war with 

all the wrong they see, — 
Souls that find their calmest living must be one 

long struggle here 
With the moulds that strain and shatter all that 

nature's child holds dear. 
It will need no simple proof to show that justice 

due to each 
Never can be gain'd, till each is free to claim his 

due in speech ; 
Or that kings behind their armies cannot guard the 

rights of man 
Better than the battling masses butcher'd for them 

in the van. 
It will need no nerveless effort to reverse that cruel 

mill, 



304 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Where the wheels that run the ruling grind to 

dust the people's will. 
Long will those controlling nations fear, if learn- 
ing be dispers'd, 
Men who serve them like the brutes will learn to 

know themselves accurst. 
Long will those controlling labor, loving money 

more than man. 
Crush as grapes are crush'd for vintage all the 

powers of all they can. 
Long will sects of darker ages, darker made by 

man's control. 
Clog the growth of aim and action, save the form 

and lose the soul. 
Where, O where shall trust in truth that speaks 

through manhood great and small, 
Overcome the few's oppression by intrusting power 

to all ? 

XXII. 

Lo, there dawn'd a light about me and a vision in 

my sleep 
Rose above the midnight vapors, and it floated o'er 

the deep : 
In a shell like alabaster, by an unseen impulse 

drawn. 
There I saw three forms who journey'd softly as 

the light of dawn. 



WA TCHING, 305 

Beautiful, the central figure stood with eyes upon 

the sky, 
As if fiird with faith that surely heaven would all 

her need supply. 
Just above her unbound ringlets gleam'd as 't were 

the morning star ; 
And within her shining breastplate mirror'd lands 

appear'd afar. 
At her right hand, underneath her, crouch'd the 

aged limbs of War ; 
Yet he fiercely clutch'd his bow as when in youth 

't was battled for, 
Though his eyes were glaring backward, and seem'd 

anger'd but to find 
That the storms they sought had linger'd on the 

shore they left behind. 
At her right hand, peering forward, knelt the white- 
robed form of Peace, 
As a prince might kneel for crowning, or a serf for 

his release ; 
While against his brow his palm bent, shielding 

from the light the glance 
Of an eye whose pleas for patience were but prayers 

for swift advance. 
Thus I saw the forms, when, lo ! more forms before 

them suddenly 
Sprang from sky and sea like hopes along a path 

of prophecy. 



3o6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

'T was as if a grander people, wash'd of prejudice 

and pride, 
Passed a newer, broader Jordan, rose upon a 

grander side. 
'T was as if all earth had caught a glory flash'd on 

mount and isle ; 
*T was as if the heaven had open'd, where all 

nations throng'd the while. 
And a fresh wind rose that whisper'd : " Where 

shall man to man be true ? — 
In the old world old ways triumph ; Freedom hies 

to seek the new." 

XXIII. 

" To the new." I caught the accents floating 

sweetly o'er the deep ; 
And they thrill'd my dreaming spirit, so they woke 

me from my sleep. 
Then I found me old and feeble, faint, with so 

much work to do ; — 
" Ah," I moan'd, " all things that falter — what can 

thrive but in the new ? " 

XXIV. 

Ye, as well, with new hearts beating in the ranks of 

human life ; 
Ye whose youth itself assures us good will still 

maintain the strife ; 



WA TCHING. 307 

Ye whose tread is recreation, and whose every 

breath a joy, 
Not exhausted yet in paths that earthly smoke and 

dust annoy ; 
Ye whose cheeks to flame-hue kindle, fired by all 

the faith ye feel, 
Not yet frosted by the winters that have chill'd 

men's older zeal ; 
Ye whose eyes are skies to spirits, whirl'd as worlds 

from change to change. 
Not yet check'd by disappointment, so ye dare not 

test the strange ; 
Ye whose wills ne'er cringed in failure nor surren- 
dered flags of hope. 
But can look for victory still in highest spheres, of 

broadest scope ; 
Do ye know how old age rallies when it hears 

your bounding tread ? 
How, in youth's endearing presence, all things else 

beloved have fled ? 
Angels even see I bending through this thick and 

troubled air, — 
But for you, so fresh from God, might earth and 

heaven too both despair. 

XXV. 

Thanks to God, life moves on with you. Hope, 
that no defeat will see, 



308 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Rushes past the line that falters, rousing thoughts 

of what shall be. 
So is hope triumphant ever. Life has had its fill of 

pain ; 
But the shade of melancholy clasped me to her 

breast in vain ; 
Phantom-film of mortal making, what could she to 

hide the light ? — 
Scarcely had I dared oppose her, ere her form had 

fled from sight. 
Never while these years are waiting for a nobler 

worth in man, 
While the strife for life continues, does the dark 

hide all the van. 
Howe'er thickly clouds may gather, howe'er fierce 

the storm may be. 
Even down the thunder's pathway trembles light 

by which to see. 
Let the thunder do its direst ; let the lightning 

strike men dead; 
Still could hope look past the present, nor believe 

all light had fled. 

XXVI. 

Watch the wise of all the ages ; there they linger 

peacefully. 
Peering off from earthly sorrow o'er a sea of 
mystery. 



WA TCHING. 309 

All embark alone upon it, where there falls a fog- 
wrought screen, 

Parting each from every neighbor, shrouding every 
dearest mien. 

But in all the faith is bright that o'er the sea in 
regions blest. 

Gardens wait of endless plenty, where an endless 
wish may rest. 

XXVII. 



O they know, when aspiration sweeps them onward 

through the sky, 
That the outward life could never give the inward 

life the lie ; 
Know no heaven would draw them on or give them 

power to heed its call, 
If indeed the love and duty due to earth were all 

in all ; 
Know no soul could ever tremble, touch'd as by an 

organ's key, 
If the spirit's life that touch'd it were a life that 

could not be ; 
Know no soul could dream a dream set free from 

all that flesh can bind. 
If within were naught to vibrate, like to like and 

kind to kind. 



3IO A LIFE IN SONG. 

XXVII. 

Once I saw a pilgrim, treading o'er a thorny desert 
wide ; 

And I saw his face grow brighter, as he dash'd 
his tears aside. 

On and on, though stumbling often, with a gaze in- 
tent he sped, 

While behind his path grew plainer from the blood 
his wounds had shed. 

Then he fell, and sweetly fainting said he now no 
more would roam ; 

And with smiles had left his body, sure the soul 
would journey home. 

Ah, I felt a joy so cloudless must forebode a com- 
ing day. 

At whose break like morning vapors all the shades 
of life give way. 

Surely, surely, truth and justice rule the worlds ; 
and cares and pains 

Which the martyr meekly suffers are not all that 
duty gains. 

Grand desires are not delusions, though one die be- 
fore his day ; 

And the soul that plann'd for manhood fall a child 
amid his play. 

Trembling through the dying whispers of the men 
who live for right 

Comes a call to nobler living than the sleep of end- 
less night. 



WATCHING. 311 

XXIX. 

Yes, I know full well of many, fiU'd with doubts 

that cannot pray. 
Who would every aspiration check and silence with 

a nay. 
*' Gaze," they say, " on scenes about you ; earth is 

green, and skies are blue ; 
In life's morning, ere you knew it, calmly rose the 

sun to view ; 
Why should not the dusk of evening just as gently 

steal the day ? 
Come, while noon is bright around us, let us dance 

adown the way ; 
Hunt the fruit in arbors blushing ; and be sure, 

when sinks the eve, 
That our patient mother Nature will our weary 

limbs receive, 
Nor less gently than she roused us on the dreamy 

morn of life 
Soothe our weary powers to slumber, dead to con- 
sciousness or strife." 

XXX. 

Yet can thus our hope be stifled ? — Where were we 

that misty morn ? 
How much thought controlled our spirits on the 

day when we were born ? 



312 A LIFE IN SONG. 

If we own'd a mind at all then, how it slumbered, at 

the best ! 
But, to-day, it cannot slumber, though the body 

long for rest. 
Down amid those grand reformers, mark that elder 

leader swoon, — 
But the soul in him is mightier than when life was 

at its noon. 
Just before his lifeless falling, lo, his words that 

rouse the brave 
Make the troubled nations tremble. Sinks the soul 

within the grave ? 

XXXI. 

Is the soul indeed but matter, welded, moulded, 

multiple. 
White in snow and green in sunshine, by the storms 

dissolvable ? 
Or is it a lingering breath that, snared to work 

these lobes of clay. 
Soon, like air that shapes the wind-cloud, passes 

through it and away ? — 
Who can know, or who will tell us ? — All in vain 

we ask the sage. 
Shall we ask the seer ? — Alas, the seers have fled 

our later age. 

XXXII. 

O could we in our misgivings only see and hear 
once more 



WATCHING. 313 

What our fathers thought so bless'd them, when the 

heavens unclosed of yore ; 
Ere men's eyes intent on matter, minding not what 

o'er them towers, 
Lost their spirit-sight, if not their right to know 

and use its powers ; 
Ere men's wits were ground to tools more sharp 

than blades, but narrow too, 
Plied at earth our day makes brighter but to hide 

the stars from view ! 
Is it wise, — belief so bounded as to let three hun- 
dred years 
Of the faith of half of Europe give the lie to all 

the seers ? 
Is it wise, — the mean ideal, whether form'd of man 

or God, 
Deeming truth in all religions born and bred in 

conscious fraud ? 
Is it wise, — the church, assuming mortals once could 

hear and see 
Sounds and shapes from realms immortal, but that 

now this cannot be ? 
Is it wise, — the coward science, which, when faith 

its aid requests, 
Frighten'd still by Salem's witches, does not dare 

apply its tests ? 
Witchcraft probed, might burst the bubble of the 

world's religious frauds, — 



314 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Showing seers themselves deceived, who deem all 
power beyond them God's ; 

And, with seers, the seers' disciples, who, with pride 
of mind and will, 

Fix belief, prohibit thought, and bid the truth, for- 
sooth, stand still. 

Powers beyond us may be finite ; nor can ever tell 
or do 

Aught that frees the mind that heeds them from its 
need of reason too. 

XXXIII. 

Yet, though never mortal vision saw the spirits* 

torches flame. 
Or the white of robes etherial, rustling never when 

they came ; 
Never prest the hand so sacred from the sacred 

work it plies ; 
Never watch'd the light of heaven within those 

peaceful soul-lit eyes ; 
Never heard that distant music, which can hush the 

seraph's wings 
With the pathos all unconscious, which from earth 

each memory brings ; 
Though no saintly guest ere blest us down amid 

these vales below ; 
Or unveil'd for us that beauty which no eyes of 

earth can know -* 



WATCHING, 315 

Still our souls would dream about it, still would 

feel its endless charm, 
Drawing all the good within us toward a life no ill 

can harm. 

XXXIV. 

Thither thus may all be drawn, and find, at last, 

that perfect Love, 
Power, Truth, Wisdom, Justice, Beauty, throned 

eternally above ; 
Find the Mind that moves creation. Maker, Father, 

Saviour, Lord. 
Source and Sum and Destination, Life with which 

all lives accord ; 
Life of worlds that, whirl'd like sparks from shrines 

amid infinity. 
Spin through space till kindling glories light all 

nights of mystery; 
Life of seasons changing ever to reflect unchanging 

power, 
Whether flash' d from snowy summits or aglow 

above the flower ; 
Life of man, whose upright purpose, high aspiring 

from the dust. 
Looks above to find his aim, his inspiration and his 

trust ; 
Life of his life's under current, bearing all men do 

or are. 



3l6 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Silent, swift, and broad and blessed, toward the rest 

that waits afar. 
Thanks to God and adoration, that our minds 

whose freedom hied 
In the first vague dread of duty from the sway 

they had not tried, 
Ne'er can be, where'er they wander, free from that 

divine control 
Which attains its grandest glory in the good of 

every soul ; 
Nor can find where life is darkest aught that wholly 

hides from sight 
Love amid the springs of being imaged in the 

depths of right. 
Thanks to God for inward light, the word, the truth, 

the life to prize, 
And the golden fruit of ages, hanging ripe before 

our eyes ; 
And O grant, all ruling Spirit — and how blest are 

spirits here 
Who can feel Thine answer coming ere a word has 

reach'd Thine ear — 
From the minds of those who seek Thee, and rely 

upon Thy might, 
And on every loving token Thou hast sent them 

through the night. 
Draw aside all veils of darkness, till each watchful 

eye may trace, 



IVA TCHING, 3 1 7 

Clearer, nearer to its vision, outlines of Thy destin'd 

grace ; 
Woo mankind to kindly feelings, lessen lust that 

love may be, 
Cleanse of dross that every soul may grow an image 

bright of Thee. 
Even so, O come. Thou Savior, spreading worth 

from man to man ; 
Close the annals of confusion, draw the limits of 

Thy plan ; 
Quickly come, O Holy Spirit, sanctify the waiting 

world ; 
Bring the last grand resurrection ; from the earth, 

beneath men whirl'd, 
Lift aspiring lives where from them all their sin and 

sorrow fall, 
There to dwell in endless union with Thy Love, the 

All in All. 

XXXV. 

And for him whose watch yet lengthens, whatsoe'er 

reports be brought. 
May he learn to wait and doubt not that the good 

will yet be wrought ; 
Thankful for all forms of living, dreams or deeds, 

whate'er they be. 
Which confirm a hope within him that his life may 

honor Thee. 



3l8 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Pardon him for ways unworthy, and for words that 

are not wise, 
And outweigh by contradiction all Thou canst not 

authorize. 
Guide him on, whatever his fortune, that he may 

not cease to do ; 
And may trust in all his doing Thee alone to work 

the true. 
Bide with him when dangers deepen, shield him 

from the tempter's test. 
Looking not to earth beneath him but above for all 

his rest. 
Dreaming, daring, doubting, seeking, loving, serv- 
ing, watching, then. 
When shall come the great deliverance, may he join 

the long Amen. 




^'^'^^iQ^^^miQ^^^^^^ 




INALE 



The reader ceased his reading, and 
the throng 

Sat silent, till, at last, without a 
L^' word. 

The reader took the poems, folded them. 
And placed them where they might be safely borne, 
And rose to leave. Then all the people rose, 
And press'd his hands, and tears were in their eyes, 
And trembling were their tones that bade farewell ; 
Then he had mounted on his waiting steed ; 
And on the hills again the bars and stars 
And buttons on his uniform of blue 
Had flashed in sunlight, and he disappear'd. 
Nor did he e'er return ; for old was he, 
And bound to many cares. 



But after months 
There came a volume ; and within it, lo. 
As by-gone glories of the summer's life 
Rest focus'd and imprinted in warm hues 
319 



320 A LIFE IN SONG. 

Of autumn leaves, so in this volume's leaves 
Lay all the glory of the poet's life, 
His imprint of the soul. Nor was it long, 
Ere other volumes like this volume came ; 
And all were treasured with the choicest things 
In all these village homes. The villagers 
Had known the poet, — ay, and they had known 
How through his poems he had always tried 
To breathe the living spirit of the truth, 
Conceiving that in all tales true to life, 
Men read a lesson less from man than God. 

So down to this day oft, in moments when 

The stress of work is waived, perchance in hours 

Of sickness or of sorrow, or when storms 

Have block'd the roadways of accustom'd craft, 

Or evening shadows hid the daily task, 

And brought the cattle home, and shut the school 

And shop and factory ; when carts and plows 

Are in their places, and the horses fed, 

And stable-doors made fast, and dogs at watch ; 

When in the house the evening meal has pass'd, 

The lamps been lighted, and the little folk 

Been put to bed with that last prayer and kiss 

Which hallows all their dreamland ; when the wife 

Takes up her sewing, and the maid draws forth 

Her embroidery work, well folded to conceal 

Her future gift from him for whom 't is wrought, — 



FINALE. 321 

Then often comes at last the poet's hour. 

For then the book is open'd, leaf on leaf 

Unfolding there like petals of a rose, 

A southern rose far sent to northern vales 

Not freed from fingers yet of frozen streams, — 

A rose that with its odor brings a thought 

Of bright blue skies, and trees deep-draped in 

green, 
And air so thick with fragrant warmth that all 
Its thrilling tissues quiver visibly 
O'er flowers reflecting back the choicest rays 
That sunlight showers upon them from above. — 
Ah, like these thoughts more fragrant than itself, 
Through which this rose recalls another world 
Of beauty and delight beyond the haze 
Of blue horizons walling our world in, 
Come sweet suggestions opening with the leaves 
That fill the poet's volume, v/idening all 
The spirit's range of sight and sympathy, 
And making e'en the humblest life appear 
To be, indeed, the noble thing it is, 
The while these village-people trace again 
The course of one born humble as themselves. 
Who yet attained the end of highest aims 
As grand as any land or age e'er sought. 
Because his plans when struggling toward the light 
Emerged where freemen leave to God and heaven 
The right to rule the spirit though on earth. 



322 A LIFE IN SONG. 

At times in silence is the volume read ; 

At times aloud, by one who while he reads, 

With cheeks aglow beside the brightest lamp, 

Charms every listener, e'en the sage whose head 

Will nod and dream, and then awake again ; 

Nor find within the volume less to praise 

Because it chiefly spell-bound holds the young 

In them the friction of the flying rhymes 

Oft fires imagination to a glow, 

Through which the spirit gazes on a world 

That bright aureolas of circling thoughts 

Robe in celestial beauty not its own, — 

A world that makes men wistful, and inspires 

A purpose in their souls to image forth 

In their real life a life that is ideal. 

With every Spring-time to that region comes 
A day when all the people, far and near, 
Recall the warfare waged in former years 
That from disruption saved their native land. 
Set free the bondman, and made liberty. 
Throughout their country's length and breadth, 

supreme. 
And ere that day comes, through the week before, 
The wives whose husbands fell in that sad war, 
The friends and sweethearts brooding o'er a loss 
That oft is deepest when 't is least express'd, 
The mothers mourning sons, and boys and girls, 



FINALE. 323 

Who think of their dead fathers as of forms 

That fill'd the twilight of their childhood's dreams, 

Are forming wreaths of all the greenest leaves, — 

Of myrtle, ivy, arbor- vitse, join'd 

With all the fairest flowers the season yields. 

The garden's tulip, pansy, peony, 

Magnolia, honeysuckle, bleeding-heart, 

Phlox, lilac, snowball, and wisteria. 

The forest's bursting glories, chief and first 

The dogwood, rill'd like mimic drifts of snow, 

The blue-flag, waving welcomes from the marsh, 

The lily of the pond and of the vale. 

The daisy, violet, and buttercup. 

The elder-berry and the bridle wreath. 

From garden, grove or roadside — all are cull'd 

And weaved in wreaths to deck the soldiers' graves. 

At noon the church-bell rings, the organ peals, 

The hymns and prayers ascend, the orator 

Recalls once more the virtues of the past, 

The privilege of the present ; then the throng 

Move slowly toward the place where sleep the dead, 

And, bending o'er the graves of loved ones lost. 

And o'er the graves of strangers who no more 

Have friends they loved on earth to care for them, 

Kind forms lay one by one their tributes down. 

No soldier's tomb is pass'd and not enwreath'd 

Vv^ith flowers that rest there like embodiments 

Of fragrant hopes and beautiful desires, 



324 A LIFE IN SONG. 

And make the grave no type of death's dark night, 
But of the rosy dawn of life beyond. 

And somehow with the service of that day 

Has grown a custom kept from year to year, 

That all, before they part, shall gather round 

The modest grave where, when the old were young, 

A few with pitying faces laid to rest 

Our poet, dying as a stranger dies. 

And buried like a man to be forgot. 

About his grave some words he wrote are read, 

As if betokening his own presence there, 

And their communion with him ere they go. 

And then, as homeward all the long line moves. 

One wandering through that silent place will find 

That not on grave of father, husband, son, 

Or any kinsman, have the people shower'd 

The most abounding tokens of their love. 

More to them all than any one of these 

Is he whose words, confined not by the grave, 

Still cheer their thoughts, and guide them in their 

deeds, 
And, oft repeated to each other, keep 
As bright his memory as do stars by night 
The light of suns that long have sunk to rest. 

So lives the poet, though men see him not. 
The seven poems, fitly phrased of old, 



FINALE. 325 

To sound forth life's full gamut, and recall 

His rise from youth through manhood, stage by 

stage. 
Cease not their music, but are ringing still. 
His voice has join'd that choir invisible 
Of seers and singers who have pass'd away, 
Which oft, in moments when earth's din is hush'd. 
Sends back o'er infinite depths a spirit's call, 
Whose inspiration subtly wakes to life 
Whatever welling from the soul may swell 
The stream of truth that flows from each for all 
Toward that far distant light where heavenly hues 
Presage the dawning of the perfect day. 

END. 




PRESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 



A New and Revised Edition of the Earlier Poems of the 
author of " A Life in Song " is in preparation. The following 
are some of the notices of the press which greeted their first 
appearance : 

" New poetry worth welcoming, ... in blank verse, rhythmical 
in its flow and deliciously choice in language, ... a love story 

. . . told with a degree of spirit indicating a deep acquaintance with 
human nature, while there is throughout a tone that speaks plainly of a 
high realization of the divine purpose in life. , . . a tale that enlists 
the sympathies, while it tends to elevate the mind and quicken the heart 
to good impulses. Not the least charming characteristic of the poem is 
its richness in pen-and-ink pictures marked by rare beauty and presenting 
rresistibly that which the poet saw in his mind's eye. . . . We confi- 
dently promise that any one taking it up will enjoy the reading through- 
out, that is, if there is any poetry in him." — Boston Evening Journal, 

" It may well find readers in abundance, both for the sake of the story, 
and for the sake of the many fane passages which it contains. . . . This 
work has one point of very high excellence, and it is this which makes it 
eminently a poem rather than merely a pretty story in verse ... we 
have in this one thing — the conception of the character of Edith — the 
work of a genuine poet, we may say of a genuinely dramatic poet. . . . 
In Edith we have a thoroughly masculine intellect in a thoroughly fem- 
inine soul, not merely by the author's assertion but by actual exhibition. 
Every word that Edith speaks, every act that she does, is in accord with 
this conception. . . . It is sufficient, without doubt, to give life to a 
less worthy performance, and it proves beyond doubt that Mr. Raymond 
is the possessor of a poetic faculty which is worthy of the most careful 
and conscientious cultivation." — N. V. Evening Post. 

" Marked by a fertility and a strength of imagination worthy of our 
first poets . . . gems of similes and analogies which are not infre- 
quent." — The Literary World, 

327 



328 PRESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 

" It is a pleasant surprise to take up a new volume of poetry from the 
hand of one who has not attained a recognized place in the poetic world, 
and find that it contains something more than mere platitudes and 
worn-out similes. . . . It is evident that Mr. Raymond works with 
a purpose. That purpose is to give to the world his best of thought, 
clothed in a noble and attractive diction. His is no mere utterance of 
dreams and fancies. His poetry takes hold on life ; it enters the arena 
where its grandest and purest motives are discussed, and by the vigor and 
beauty of its language it holds itself on a level with the highest themes. 
Art and music, and love and morals, and social questions, all find their 
place in his verse. . . . Every thoughtful reader . . . will wish 
that the poems had been longer or that there had been more of them in 
this number. The author has learned the art of stopping before your 
appetite becomes cloyed. It would be possible to quote passage after 
passage of rare beauty." — Utica Herald. 

" The conviction will grow upon the mind of the reader of this volume 
that it is the work of a poet of no mean order." — Illustrated Christian 
Weekly. 

" The two poems here presented are ripe with deep and analytical 
thought. They have vigor, beauty, and an easy musical flow, which cap- 
tivates the ear and touches the inner chords of the highest poetic feeling. 
The sentiment of the poems is that of a mind cultivated and pure ; the 
philosophy that of a thinker who unites an elevated Christian enthusiasm 
with the strength and depth which pertain to the most profound specula- 
tion. ... In a word, the poems are the results of ripened thought, 
accomplished scholarship, and a thorough acquaintance with poetical 
technique." — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

" Representing a loftier and more genuine inspiration than most of his 
younger contemporaries." — Boston Post. 

" A volume of real poetry, the offspring of a cultured genius. . . . 
It is difficult to say precisely in what his charm consists. On almost every 
page we are brought face to face with the traces of a severe realism, 
a sprightly and agile humor, a fancy graceful in every careering, a heart 
warm with love and sympathy for the brotherhood. . . . We follow 
him, and the labyrinthine windings and inner recesses through which he 
leads us are those of our own hearts. There is no ostentation in his phi- 
lanthropy, and neither latitudinarianism nor bigotry in his religion. His 
descriptions are as varied as an October landscape, and sometimes as beau- 
tiful. Graceful allusions, historic incidents, minute analyses, delicate 
touches, vivid picturings, metaphors bold and occasionally almost start- 



J^IdESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 329 

ling in their novelty and brilliancy, are scattered in profusion, but we look 
in vain for the slightest token of a disposition wantonly to play with lan- 
guage, or to shock the reader into attention by the use of mongrel com- 
pounds or strange concatenations. He is a thorough master of English 
verse. . . . ' Whatever the Mission of Life may be,' is strong in mas- 
culine thought, tersely expressed, and is a better presentation of the same 
subject than Tennyson's famous sonnet 'To J. M. K.' " — American 
Presbyterian Review. 

" The author writes vigorously, and manifests a thorough acquaintance 
with poetical composition. His works abound with many beautiful 
thoughts and conceptions, which are peculiarly remarkable for the elegant 
and picturesque language in which they are clothed. It is rarely that we 
meet with a writer who combines in so natural and at the same time so 
artistic a manner the graces of the poet with the subtleties of the philoso- 
pher. The morality of his writings is as unquestionable as their excel- 
lence and literary worth will make them worth remembering."— y^ewzV/t 
Messenger. 

" The author of this volume has . . . proved himself the possessor of 
the genuine gift of song. He is thoughtful, careful, never allowing his 
poetic fervor to cheat his judgment of its rights, nor suspend the exercise 
of his critical and subtle intellect, and yet his verse has both vigor and 
sweetness, and not a little of his fine imagery will long cling to the read- 
er's mind and yield a true aesthetic enjoyment." — Dover Morning 
Star. 

" A poem of remarkable vigor, instinct with genuine poetic ideality and 
imagery, all nobleness and beauty. The verse is smooth and graceful, 
and the fancies real articulations of the brightest thought. Some touches 
or arguments, and occasionally pictures, remind the reader of that won- 
derful ' phantasmagoria, " Festus," ' yet gentler, less subtle, humaner, 
more in the spirit of mankind." — Rochester Democrat. 

"... Fine, thoughtful, elevated, pathetic. We can conscien- 
tiously recommend it as well worth reading." — Boston Cominowwealth. 

" The artistic reproduction of this sorrowful romance, the sweet, tender 
purity that hallows the sentiment of the young lovers, the subtle beauty 
of the words that aptly match the sense, all attest the instinct of the true 
poet and the skill of the natural versifier." — Chicago Post. 

" Quite beyond the ordinary verse of the day in picturesque speech, 
harmonious and well balanced versification, and the limning of subtle ex- 
periences of life . . . narrative and dramatic with passages of great 
beauty and power." — Boston Congregationalist and Recorder. 



330 PRESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 

" They possess the highest merit which scholarship, thoughtfulness, 
and refined taste can give." — Cincinnati Gazette. 

" The vigor of expression and the high purpose of these poems make 
them an agreeable study. The author certainly has great ability." — N. Y. 
Observer. 

" At once a romance and a psychological and emotional study. The 
hero 'struggles with his ideas and passions, until he works himself into a 
steadier light and plants himself on a firmer ground. The processes and 
stages of his progress are delineated with marked insight and with delicacy 
or strength as the occasion requires. Many striking thoughts are finely 
expressed, and choice descriptive passages are abundant." — National 
Baptist. 

'' Full of thought expressed in pleasant versification. ... A fine 
enthusiam and a high ideal of art are manifest in the work." — The Meth- 
odist. 

" The romance is one of peculiar interest, the characters are beautifully 
depicted, and the thoughts and sentiments are pure, elevated, and ex- 
pressed in language inspired by true poetic genius." — Boston Home 
Journal. 

" Indicate the possession of poetic fire and art in the author. Among 
the rising American poets, Mr. Raymond is undoubtedly pushing his 
w^ay to the first rank. . . . We welcome this modest volume as 
containing two poems which are well worth the reading by every re- 
flective mind," — Christian Intelligencer. 

" A vigorous writer and graceful versifier. . . . We enjoy his 
poems with their healthy, elevated sentiment and pure pathos, beauti- 
ful imagery and chaste language far more than we do the slangy slap- 
dash effusions of some of the ' popular poets ' of the day ; and his 
poems will be read and admired after the latter are forgotten, or re- 
membered only to be di&xKd.&dL.'''' —Portsmouth Chronicler. 

'' A volume of dramatic poetry, ... a great advance upon the 
former work in vigor of thought and delicacy of finish." — N. Y. 
Times. 

"There is much power, much originality of thought, much subtle 
study of character in the little volume before us. . . . One who is 
willing to give it the necessary attention will not go unrewarded."— 
Philadelphia Inquirer. 

" The poems which comprise this charming little volume are bright 
pages for summer reading. . . . We can recommend the book as 
well worth rea.ding.^'—Burlin£to7i Hawkey e. 



PRESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 33 1 

" This is romance in poetry, and well deserves the name. Some pas- 
sages are marked by much strength and great beauty. The author 
shows a poet's skill in analyzing the human passions, and lays open 
the human heart with a true insight into its motives. It is good solid 
poetic reading," — Pittsburg Christian Advocate. 

" One of the rising new poets whose published productions already 
give promise of a brilliant career." — Salem Register. 

*' The author evidently possesses poetic fire and genius of no mean 
order, and there is throughout these productions a beauty in concep- 
tion, a fervor of expression, and smoothness of versification which 
leads one on from stanza to stanza irresistibly. ... A delicious 
song of affection. . . . Full of pure sentiment, vigorous, earnest, 
and withal most marvellous imagery and ^oyiGX ." —Lawrence (Mass.) 
Mercury. 

" It is full of interest, and sparkles, here and there, with the purest 
of poetic gems."— Detroit Free Press. 

" The measure is musical, the sentiment pure, and the level of artis- 
tic workmanship is high throughout."— CArzV/:a» at Work. 

" Fine passages of delicate thought and vigorous delineation."— 
Central Christian A dvocate. 

" A poetic romance containing many passages of charming grace, 
the entire poem being brisk, bright, and of well-sustained interest to 
the last Ti)3Jge."— Portsmouth Journal. 

*' Both works will repay perusal, being written from a lofty and no- 
ble standpoint." — Christian Union. 

" A writer of genuine merit and a poet of cultivated genius. . . . 
The pure English, the easy-flowing blank verse, and the graceful con- 
ceptions with which it is told . . . appear to be characteristic of 
this poet . . . The romances are the embodiment of purity and 
well deserve the attention of poem readers." — New Bedford Mercury. 

*' The poems will give pleasure to every cultivated mind and every 
sensitive nature."— iV^w Haven Journal and Courier. 

" The tone of both poems is very high, and the labor bestowed upon 
them is so great as to render many passages a real study. . . . 
Thought and feeling and scholarship are clearly shown in both compo- 
sitions. . . . The most studious will be the most pleased."— /'A //a- 
delphia North American. 

*' Both poems abound in beautiful thoughts clothed in beautiful lan- 
guage, and each covers a great amount of true Christian philosophy. 
The author evidently has great ability and more than ordinary meas- 



332 PRESS NOTICES OF FORMER POETRY. 

ure of poetic fire, and we shall be disappointed if he does not make to 
himself a famous name inliterature."— P^^rm Transcript. 

"... The dialogue in verse is capitally interwoven and shows 
great poetic skill."— r«««/'tf« (Mass.) Gazette. 

" Choice poetry which cannot fail to command attention. . . . 
The author is a man of deep thought and feeling, and an accomplished 
artist, his work being marked by pure tone and high &msh."—lVater- 
ville Mail. 

"... There are many fine thoughts and much good imagery 
wrought into these poems, and the tone of both is high and scholarly." 
Lutheran Observer. 

" Written with much fluency, flashing with wit and a happy fac- 
ulty of versification. The author . . . is a poet decidedly origi- 
nal, and with individual ideas of his own. . . . Very delicate, 
deeply thoughtful and pathetic . . . filled with imagery and 
beauty."— /i/^J^iwy Express. 

" Genuine poetic powers of a high ch.'UXZ.c'^.QX.''''— Presbyterian Ban- 
ner. 

" Mr. Raymond as a verse writer has much vigor, and his composi- 
tion is easy and flowing. In depicting emotion he does not lose his 
feet (nor his head), but keeps to this modern sphere. Characters sus- 
tain themselves in his hands very satisfactorily, and the sense of the 
language is never encumbered in the interest of sound and effect . . . 
A very high order of merit."— 5a^,4 Daily Times. 

" This is a beautiftil poem ... a brilliant, fresh, and sparkling 
romance full of true poetry and pure sentiment."— ^«^a/<? Christian 
A dvocate. 

"They are worth reading, serious, full of thought, and there is 
poetry in them. . . . This volume ought to win its way to favor 
without difficulty." — Worcester Spy. 

" Many lines and passages are full of vigorous beauty . . . feli- 
citpus conceits charmingly expressed, and . . . sentiments clothed 
in the choicest diction. It is a poem which one hasty reading does 
not exhaust, but beneath whose depths are unseen riches. . . . 
There is thoughtfulness throughout both these little poems which will 
make them special favorites with all reflective minds." — Jacksonville 
Courier. 



Ji Selection from the 
Catalogue of 

C. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Complete Catalogue sent 
on application 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

A LIFE IN SONG 

By GEORGE L. RAYMOND 



i6mo, cloth extra, $1.25 



*• An age-worn poet, dying amid strangers in a humble village home, 
leaves the record of his life in a pile of manuscript poems. These are 
claimed by a friend and comrade of the poet, but, at the request of the 
cottagers, he reads them over before taking them away. The poet's life 
is divided into seven books or ' notes,' because seven notes seem to make 
up the gamut of life. . . . This is the simple but unique plan, . . . 
which . . . , forms but the mere outline of a remarkably fine study of 
the hopes, aspirations, and disappointments of life, ... an American 
modern life. . . . The author sees poetry, and living poetry, where 
the most of men see prose. . . . The objection, so often brought 
against our young poets, that form outweighs the thought, cannot be 
urged in this instance, for the poems of Prof. Raymond are full of keen 
and searching comments upon life. Neither can the objection be urged 
of the lack of the human element. 'A Life in Song' is not only dra- 
matic in tendency, but is singularly realistic and acute. . . . The 
volume will appeal to a large class of readers by reason of its clear, musi- 
cal, flexible verse, its fine thought, and its intense human interest." — 
Boston Transcript. 

" Professor Raymond is no dabbler in the problem of the human spirit, 
and no tyro in the art of word painting, as those who know his prose 
works can testif j\ These pages contain a mine of rich and disciplined 
reflection, and abound in beautiful passages." — Hart/ord Theological 
Seminary Record. 

" Here are lines which, if printed in letters of gold upon the front of 
every pulpit, and practised by every one behind one, would transform the 
face of the theological world. ... In short, if you are in search of 
ideas that are unconventional and up-to-date, get ' A Life in Song,' and 
read it." — Unity. 

" Some day Dr. Raymond will be universally recognized as one of the 
leaders in the new thought-movement. . . . He is a poet in the truest 
sense. His ideals are ever of the highest, and his interpretation is of the 
clearest and sweetest. He has richness of genius, intensity of human 
feeling, and the refinement of culture. His lines are alive with action, 
luminous with thought and passion, and melodious with music." — 
Cleveland World. 

The main imiJulse and incident of the life are furnished by the enlist- 
ment of the hero in the anti-slavery cause. The story of his love is also 
a leading factor, and is beautifully told. The poem displays a mastery 
of poetic rhythm and construction, and, as a whole, is pervaded by the 
imaginative quality which lifts ' a life ' into the region of poetry, — the 
peculiar quahty which marks Wordsworth." — Christian Intelligencer. 

" It is a great work, and shows that America has a great poet. . . . 
A century from now this poem will be known and quoted wherever fine 
thought is appreciated, or brave deeds sung." — Western Rural. 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Books by Professor Raymond 



Poetry as a Representative Art. 8° . . . $1.75 

This book is an attempt, in accordance with modern methods, aided 
by the results of modern investigation, to determine scientifically the 
laws of poetic composition and criticism, by deriving and distinguish- 
ing the methods and meanings of the various factors of poetic form 
and thought from those of the elocution and rhetoric of ordinary 
speech, of which poetry is an artistic development. The principles 
unfolded are illustrated by quotations from the first English poets. 

"I have read it with pleasure, and a sense of instruction on many- 
points." — Francis Turner Palgrave, Professor of Poetry, Oxford Uni- 
versity. 

"Dieses ganz vortrefiBche Werk." — Englische Studien, Universitilt 
Breslau. 

"An acute, interesting, and brilliant piece of work. . . . As a 
whole the essay deserves unqualified praise." — A^. Y. Independent. 

The Essentials of -Esthetics. Fully illustrated. 8° $2.50 

A compendium of all the art-volumes, designed as a Text-Book. 

"So lucid in expression and rich in illustraton that every page con- 
tains matter of deep interest even to the general reader." — Boston 
Herald. 

"It can hardly fail to make talent more rational, genius more 
conscious of the principles of art, and the critic and connoisseur 
better equipped for impression, judgment, and appraisement." — 
New York Times. 

A Poet's Cabinet and An Art Philosopher's Cabinet, two 

books containing quotations, the one from the poems, 
and the other from the esthetic works of George 
Lansing Raymond, selected and arranged alphabeti- 
cally according to subject by Marion Mills MiUer, 
Litt.D., editor of The Classics, Greek, and Latin, 
with illustrations. Each book 8vo. cloth-bound, gilt 
top . . $1.50 

"This Poet's Cabinet is the best thing of its class — that confined 
to the works of one author — upon which our eyes have fallen, either 
by chance or purpose. We can't help wishing that we had a whole 
book-shelf of such volumes in our own private library." — Columbus 
(O.) Journal. 

"The number and variety of the subjects are almost overwhelm- 
ing, and the searcher for advanced or new thought as expressed by this 
particular philosopher has no difficulty in coming almost immediately 
upon something that may strike his fancy or aid him in his perplexities. 
To the student of poetry and the higher forms of literature, it may 
be understood that the volume will be of distinct aid. " — Utica (N. Y.) 
Observer. 

"We risk little in foretelling a day when all considerable libraries, 
private as well as public, will be deemed quite incomplete if lacking 
these twin volumes. Years after the thinker has paid the debt to 
nature due, his thoughts will rouse action and emotion in the hearts 
and minds of generations now unborn." — Worcester (Mass.) Gazette. 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

THE AZTEC GOD, AND OTHER 
DRAMAS 

By GEORGE L. RAYMOND 
i6mo, cloth extra, $1.25 

•'The three dramas included in this volume represent a felicitous, in- 
tense, and melodious expression of art both from the artistic and poetic 
point of view. . . . Mr. Raymond's power is above all that of psy- 
chologist, and added thereto are the richest products of the imagination 
both in form and spirit. The book clearly discloses the work of a man 
possessed of an extremely refined critical poise, of a culture pure and 
classical, and a sensitive conception of what is sweetest and most ravish- 
ing in tone-quality. The most delicately perceptive ear could not detect 
a flaw in the mellow and rich music of the blank verse." — Public Opinion. 

" It is not with the usual feeling of disappointment that one lays down 
this little book. One reads 'The Aztec God ' with pleasure. . . . 
* Cecil the Seer ' is a drama of the occult. In it the author attempts to 
describe the conditions in the spiritual world exactly as they exist accord- 
ing to coinciding testimony of Swedenborg, of the modern Spiritualist, and 
of all supposed to have explored them in trance states. Indirectly, 
perhaps, the whole is a much needed satire upon the social, political, and 
religious conditions of our present materialistic life. ... In ' Columbus ' 
one^ finds a work which it is difficult to avoid injuring with fulsome 
praise. The character of the great discoverer is portrayed grandly and 
greatly.^ . . . It is difficult to conceive how anyone who cares for that 
which is best in literature . . . could fail to be strengthened and 
uplifted by this heroic treatment of one of the great stories of the world." 
—N. Y. Press. 

"One must unreservedlyr commend the clear, vigorous statement, the 
rhythmic facility, the copious vocabulary, and the unvarying elevated 
tone of the three dramas. . . . The poetic equality reveals itself in 
breadth of vision and picturesque imagery. One is, indeed, not seldom 
in peril of forgetting plot ana character-action in these dramas, because 
of the glowing imagination." — Home Journal. 

" The time and place make the play an historic study of interest, aside 
from its undoubted high poetic quality and elevation of thought. . . . 
The metre of the dramas is Shakespearian, and that master's influence is 
constantly apparent. It is needless to say to those who know the author's 
remarkable abilities that the plays are substantial and reflect perfectly 
the author's mind." — Portland Transcript. 

" The conquest of Mexico . . . has furnished the world with themes 
for wonder and romance. These Professor Raymond has brought into a 
thrilling story. . . . His studies in art and harmony give him a 
master's hand to paint the pictures that delineate the children of the sun." 
— Dayton Journal. 

" The work is one of unusual power and brilliancy, and the thinker or 
the student of literature will find the book deserving of careful study. '— 
Toledo Blade. 

" A work of high poetic art, and worthy of the reputation of its accom- 
plished author."— iV. Y. Observer. 

" Poetical compositions of an unusually high order both in the ex- 
pression and in the dramatic conception."— Z?<r«z'^r Times. 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

Books by Professor Raymond 



Dante and Collected Verse. i6mo, cloth, gilt top . $1.25 

"Epigram, philosophy, history — these are the predominant ele- 
ments . . . which masterly construction, pure diction, and lofty 
sentiment unite in making a glowing piece of blank verse. " — Chicago 
Herald. 

"The poems will be read with keenest enjoyment by all who 
appreciate literary genius, refined sentiment, and genuine culture. 
The publication is a gem throughout." — New Haven Leader. 

"The poet and the reformer contend in Professor Raymond. 
When the latter has the mastery, we respond to the justice, the high 
ideals, the truth of all he says — and says with point and vigor — but 
when the poet conquers, the imagination soars. . . . The mountain 
poems are the work of one with equally high ideals of life and of 
song." — Glasgow (Scotland) Herald. 

"Brother Jonathan can not claim many great poets, but we think 
he has 'struck oil,' in Professor Raymond." — Western (England) 
Morning News. 

"This brilliant composition . . . gathers up and concentrates for the 
reader more of the reality of the great Italian than is readily gleaned 
from the author of the Inferno himself." — Oakland Enquirer. 

Pictures in Verse. With 20 illustrations by Maud Stumm. 
Square 8vo, in ornamental cloth covers . . $ .75 

"Little love poems of a light and airy character, describing pretty 
rustic scenes, or domestic interiors. ... As charming for its illustra- 
tions as for its reading matter. " — Detroit Free Press. 

"Simple songs of human every-day experience . . . with a 
twinkle of homely humor and a wholesome reflection of domestic 
cheer. We like his optimistic sentiments, and unspoiled spirit of 
boyishness when he strikes the chord of love. It is all very true and 
good. " — The Independent. 

The Mountains about Williamstown. With an introduc- 
tion by M. M. Miller, and 35 full-page illustrations 
from original photographs ; oblong shape, cloth, gilt 
edges. Net, postpaid . . , . $2.00 

"The beauty of these photographs from so many points of vantage 
would of itself suffice to show the fidelity and affection with which 
Professor Raymond pursued the theme of his admirably constructed 

Soems. The introduction by his pupil, friend, and associate is an ex- 
austive study. No better or more thorough review could be written 
of the book, or more clearly point out the directness and power of 
Professor Raymond's work. . . . Among his many books none 
justifies more brilliantly the correctness and charm of his rhetorical 
instruction, or his facility in exemplifying what he commends." — 
Hartford (Conn.) Courant. 

Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music, 8° . $1.75 

"The reader must be, indeed, a person either of supernatural 
stupidity or of marvellous erudition, who does not discover much 
information in Prof. Raymond's exhaustive and instructive treatise. 
From page to page it is full of suggestion." — The Academy (London), 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

Professor Raymond's Art-Books 



Art in Theory. 8vo, cloth extra. . . . $1.75 

" A well grounded, thoroughly supported, and entirely artistic concep- 
tion of art as a whole, that will lead observers to apply its principles . 
and to distrust the charlatanism that imposes an idle and superficial 
mannerism upon the public in place of true beauty and honest work- 
manship." — The Neiv York Times. 

" His style is good, and his logic sound, and ... of the greatest 
possible service to the student of artistic theories." — Art Journal 
(London). 

The Representative Significance of Form. 

8vo, cloth extra. $2.00 
" Evidently the ripe fruit of years of patient and exhaustive study on 

the part of a man singularly fitted for his task. It is profound in insight. 

searching in analysis, broad in spirit, and thoroughly modern in method 

and sympathy." — The Universalist Leader. 

" An original thinker and writer, the charm of his style and clearness 

of expression make Mr. Raymond's book possible to the general reader, 

though worthy of the study of the student and scholar."— ^ar//<7r^ 

Courant. 

Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, as Representa- 
tive Arts. With 225 illustrations, 8vo. . $2.50 

*' Expression by means of extension or size . . . shape . . . regu- 
larity in ontlines . . . the human body . . . posture, gesture, and 
movement . . . are all considered. ... A specially interesting chapter 
is the one on color." — Cttrrent Literature. 

" The whole book is the work of a man of exceptional though tfulness, 
who says what he has to say in a remarkably lucid and direct manner." — 
The Philadelphia Press. 

The Genesis of Art-Form. Fully illustrated. 8vo. $2.25 

" In a spirit at once scientific and that of the true artist, he pierces 
through the manifestations of art to their sources, and shows the relations, 
intimate and essential, between painting, sculpture, poetry, music, and 
architecture. A book that possesses not only singular value, but singular 
charm." — N, Y. Times. 

" A help and a_ delight. Every aspirant for culture in any of the 
liberal .irts. including music and poetry, will find something in this book 
to aid him. — Boston Times. 

Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting, 
Sculpture, and Architecture. 

Fully illustrated. 8vo. $2.50 

" No critical person can afford to ignore so valuable a contributien to 
the art-thought of the A^^y.''— The Art-Interchange (N. Y.). 

" One does not need to be a scholar to follow this scholar as he teaches 
while seeming to entertain ; for he does hoth.''^— Burlington Hawk-Eyt. 

" The artist who wishes to penetrate the mysteries of color, the sculptor 
who desires to cultivate his sense of proportion, or the architect whose 
ambition is to reach to a high standard will find the work helpful and 
inspiring." — Boston Transcript. 



PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS 

By GEORGE L. RAYMOND 



i6mo, cloth extra, $1.25 



"In the construction of the ballad, he has given some notable exam- 
ples of what may be wrought of native material by one who has a tasteful 
ear and practised hand. If he does not come up to the standard of the 
ancient ballad, which is the model, he has done as well as any of the 
younger American authors who have attempted this kind of work, and 
there is true enjoyment in all that he has written. Of his other poems, 
the dramatic poem, ' Haydn,' is finished in form, and has literary value, 
as well as literary power. —Boston Globe. 

" The author has achieved a very unusual success, a success to which 
genuine poetic power has not more contributed than wide reading and 
extensive preparation. The ballads overflow, not only with the general, 
but the very particular, truths of history." — Cincinnati Times. 

" It may well find readers in abundance ... for the sake of the 
many fine passages which it contains. . . . * Ideals made Real' has 
one point of very high excellence . . . we have in the conception of 
the character of Edith the work of a genuinely dramatic poet. . . . In 
Edith we have a thoroughly masculine intellect in a thoroughly feminine 
soul, not merely by the author's assertion, but by actual exhibition. 
Every word that Edith speaks, every act that she does, is in accord with 
this conception. ... It is^ sufiicient, without douDt, to give life to a 
less worthy performance, and it proves beyond doubt that Mr. Raymond 
is the possessor of a poetic faculty which is worthy of the most careful 
and conscientious cultivation." — N. Y. Evening Post. 

" A very thoughtful study of character . . . great knowledge ^ of 
. . . aims and motives. . . . Such as read this poem will derive 
from it a benefit more lasting than the mere pleasure of the moment." — 
London Spectator. 

"Mr. Raymond is a poet emphatically, and not a scribbler in rhyme.' 
London Literary Churchman. 

" His is no mere utterance of dreams and fancies. His poetry takes 
hold on life ; it enters the arena where its grandest and purest motives 
are discussed, and by the vigor and beauty of the language it holds itself 
on a level with the highest themes. . . . Every thoughtful reader . . . 
will wish that the poems had been longer or that there had been more of 
them. It would be possible to quote passage after passage of rare 
beauty." — Utica Herald. 

"... Rhythmical in its flow and deliciously choice in language 

. . . indicating a deep acquaintance with human nature, while there 
is throughout a tone that speaks plainly of a high realization of the divine 
purpose in life . . . Not the least charming characteristic is its rich- 
ness in pen-and-ink pictures marked by rare beauty and presenting irre- 
sistibly that which the poet saw in his mind's eye. . . . We confidently 
promise that any one taking it up will enjoy the reading throughout, that 
IS, if there is any poetry in him.^' — Boston Evening Journal. 



